


Hiddle Me This

by Cumberknit



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Adult Content, Angst, Death References, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, FPS I'm warning you so don't get bent out of shape, Sad, Sex Toys, Sexual Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, psychological fuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 95,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumberknit/pseuds/Cumberknit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a work of fiction. I do not know Tom Hiddleston or any other real person depicted in this story.</p><p>I have folded the original chapter 2 into chapter 1 because I thought it flowed better. Sorry for any confusion.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. An Eventful Evening

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. I do not know Tom Hiddleston or any other real person depicted in this story.
> 
> I have folded the original chapter 2 into chapter 1 because I thought it flowed better. Sorry for any confusion.

My protests had fallen on deaf ears. Keith, my division chair, had basically ordered me to attend the hospital's charity event, suitably attired and with a smile on my face. I couldn't think of a way I wanted to spend my Saturday night less than in a dress and high heels, making small talk with strangers and pretending to remember their names. A few celebrities were attending the event in order to draw more attention to the fundraiser, but as usual, none of the names sounded more than passingly familiar to me. Between the demands of my schedule at work and my fledgling knitwear design business, I didn't spend much time watching television or going to the movies. I did indulge in the theatre on occasion, but the stage rarely featured famous faces. When I bothered to go, I wanted to be entertained; I didn't care who the actors were as long as the acting was good.

I had arrived as late as I dared, but the pre-program reception was still in progress. Keith caught my eye as I came in and beckoned me over to what looked like a reception line with a small jerk of his head. He wasn't smiling as he murmured, "You're late," in my ear. Then he turned on his charm, his Johannesburg accent obvious as he turned to the man next to him.

"Mr Branagh, allow me to present my colleague, Dr Carolyn Foreman. Carolyn, Kenneth Branagh."

My eyes widened; I didn't pay much attention to the entertainment world, but even I had heard of Kenneth Branagh. "It's a pleasure to meet you," I managed to choke out whilst shaking his hand, acutely aware of Keith's grin as he hovered at my elbow. He seemed to be revelling in my discomfort, and I still didn't understand why he had insisted that I be there. I had managed to avoid attending this event for the past three years without anyone seeming to care, but this year Keith had insisted that I come. As Keith was an old workaholic who generally had about as much interest in celebrities as I did, I hadn't a clue what was going on.

Keith herded me down the line, and the names and faces blurred, since other then Kenneth Branagh, I recognised none of them. I shook hands and mouthed greetings, feeling a bit like Eliza Doolittle at a tea party. I was stifling a giggle at the urge to actually say, "How good of you to let me come," when I finally reached the last person in the receiving line. He was very tall and slim, and his suit fitted him very well. I accepted his outstretched hand and looked up into strikingly blue eyes. The giggle threatened to escape as I found myself faced with a mischievous grin surrounded by a close-cropped beard oddly ginger in contrast to the thick, curly, dark blond hair on his head. He was easily the best-looking man I'd seen since arriving in England three years ago, not that I'd been looking.

Keith's elegant and clipped voice startled me out of my reverie. "Tom Hiddleston, Dr Carolyn Foreman." His tone still formal, Keith's introduction had shortened with repetition.

"Carolyn, what a lovely name," Tom said, shaking my hand.

"Very nice to meet you," I heard myself say, thankful for reflexive good manners.

"Oh! You're American!" Tom exclaimed. He glanced over my shoulder at Keith. "You didn't mention that, Dr Martin." Tom smiled again, but at me, not at Keith.

"Keith mentioned me?" I was puzzled, and turned to look at him. He looked a little embarrassed. I wasn't sure I had ever seen him display that emotion before. He compounded my confusion by simply muttering something incomprehensible and walking away. I turned back to Tom, not sure what to say or do next.

Tom glanced toward the entrance. "I think pretty much everyone's here now. Can I get you a drink?"

I looked at him, startled. He meant to continue talking to me? "That would be nice, yes, thank you," I stammered, cursing myself for being so awkward, as usual. I had no idea what to say to him. I couldn't imagine we had much in common, and I didn't know how famous he might be, or what for. He did look vaguely familiar, now that I'd had a minute to study his face, but I couldn't place him at all.

Tom gallantly offered me his arm. "To the bar, then," he smiled down at me, and I wondered how he made his eyes twinkle like that. I took his arm, glad I had followed orders and dressed formally and doubly glad I had worn heels. He had to be well over six feet tall. I smiled a greeting at several of my colleagues as we crossed the room, but didn't stop to talk. 

Just as Tom turned from the bar, his Scotch in one hand and my glass of white wine in the other, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun to find Dr Craig Obermeier, Keith's boss and the head of the paediatric department, standing with an unfortunate overhead light shining directly on his balding head. "Carolyn, there's someone I want you to meet. He’s a visiting A and E physician, teaching here for a month, and he trained at the same hospital as you. I thought you might know him." He stepped aside to reveal the doctor in question.

I stiffened. Of all the men in the world, it had to be this one, at this moment. I didn't actually hear Craig's introduction; I might have interrupted him. "Yes, we've met," I said, extending my hand though my mind screamed at me to turn and run out of the room. Thankfully, Liam looked just as startled to be introduced to his ex-wife as I was to be confronted with him.

Craig beamed, oblivious to the look of shock that surely graced my face as well as Liam’s. “Dr Hendricks,” I said coolly. “It’s been a long time. I hope you’ve been well.” Liam looked much the same as when I had last seen him, although I noted his sandy hair had a little grey at his temples that wasn’t there three years ago. His light blue eyes were wide in his pale face.

After the briefest of handshakes, Liam stammered a hasty excuse and disappeared into the crowd. Craig’s smile dropped and he looked at me, confused. He hesitated, probably about to ask me to explain what had just happened, but then changed his mind and darted after Liam. I was just thankful not to be questioned. I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to have a drink, but didn’t expect that Tom would have waited for me. Turning to go to the bar, I was surprised to find Tom still standing behind me with my wine.

"You look like you could use this," he said, handing me the glass. "And maybe a Scotch as well."

I took a grateful and none-too-ladylike gulp of the wine. "This will do me just fine, thanks."

"Shall we?" Tom inclined his head to indicate that he was suggesting walking away from the bar, and offered his arm again. I took it as much to steady myself after the shock I'd had at unexpectedly seeing Liam as to be polite.

As we strolled along the perimeter of the room, several people attempted to get the attention of one of us or the other, but Tom deflected them, acknowledging greetings with a congenial smile and a lift of his glass but continuing on. I followed suit, and realized that Tom was steering me toward the room’s side door. We emerged into a lobby area dotted with small seating arrangements. A few people sat talking at various points in the room, but it seemed almost silent compared to the hubbub of the gathering. Tom threaded our way through the tables and chairs until we were at the far end from the door to the reception. As I sat down, I heard him murmur in my ear, "Now we'll have plenty of warning if someone's sneaking up on you." He sat in the leather chair next to mine, reclining back to look completely at ease, his knees wide apart. I was perched on the edge of the seat, since if I leaned back, my feet would leave the ground and I would look hopelessly inelegant and awkward. I always had this problem with upholstered chairs; at just over five feet tall, I was simply too short to be comfortable on oversized furniture.

"I suppose I should explain what just happened there," I began, placing my glass on a side table. Tom held up a hand.

"You don't have to explain anything," he said. "We've only just met."

"I probably seemed rude," I protested. "I should explain that, at least. Or do you just think that all Americans lack manners?" I smirked at him to show that I wasn't actually accusing him of believing the stereotype.

"Well, I assume, with as uncomfortable and surprised as you both seemed, that you must be former lovers. But I doubt you really want to talk about that. And you didn’t seem rude. Just caught out." He lifted his drink and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee.

I looked at the floor. "This isn’t exactly a normal icebreaker, is it?" I glanced up through my lashes to find Tom studying me. The look on his face was difficult to read; he seemed to be making a decision.

"Let's start over, shall we?" He set his glass down and stood up, straightening his tie and then extending his right hand. "My name is Tom Hiddleston. It's lovely to meet you."

His grin was infectious. I returned it, standing up and smoothing the skirt of my dress before offering my hand in return. "Carolyn Foreman. Nice to meet you."

Tom took my hand, but instead of shaking it, he turned it palm down and bent at the waist as he brought it to his lips. As he kissed the back of my hand I felt myself blush so hard that I was sure he would see it. His lips felt soft and warm, but at the same time electric. "My pleasure," he murmured, then straightened up and released my hand. Flustered, I straightened my skirt again as I sat back down.

“So, Carolyn,” he said over the rim of his glass, once again folded into the chair in a relaxed manner. “What sort of doctor are you?”

I lifted my chin in challenge. He seemed intelligent, but he was an actor. I didn’t expect our conversation to last long after he realized how little we likely had in common. Unfortunately, this was familiar territory. “I’m a neonatologist,” I said. “Do you know what that is?” I almost winced as I realised how condescending I sounded, but I was bracing for what invariably came next: a little more small talk followed by the excuses of a man who was no longer interested in a woman whom he found intimidating.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever heard that term before, but I think I can figure it out,” he said easily. “’Neo’ means ‘new,’ and ‘natal,’ ’of birth.’ So, you take care of babies?”

I gaped at him. “That’s right. You’ve studied Greek?”

“I read classics at Cambridge, so yes, I’ve studied Greek.” He flashed me a smug smile. “I’ve surprised you, haven’t I?”

“I, no, I just—“ I struggled to explain without sounding like a smitten fool, but the words tumbled out like runaway marbles. “Usually men chat me up only long enough to find out that I have more education and a higher income than they do and then they make their excuses and walk away.” Now I had told him I thought he was chatting me up, rather than just being polite. _Way to be awkward, Caro,_ I berated myself.

Tom’s grin widened, lighting up his whole face. He fixed me with his piercingly blue eyes, looking completely delighted. “You have nothing to worry about then,” he said teasingly. “I’m quite well-educated, and if I don’t already make more than you do, I will after _Thor_ is released next month.”

_“Thor?”_ I asked, confused.

“You really have no idea, do you?” Tom seemed extremely amused. “I finally meet an interesting and attractive woman, and my fame isn’t helping me pull at all.”

I had no idea what part of that statement to address. He had just admitted that he found me attractive while also insinuating that I ought to know who he was. I was saved from answering by the flickering lights, signalling that everyone should be seated for the evening’s programme.

Tom took my elbow. “I’m going to insist that we be seated together,” he told me. “If that’s agreeable to you?”

It suddenly dawned on me that Craig might have arranged for me to sit next to Liam, so Tom’s suggestion seemed appealing for more than one reason. “Can you get the seating chart changed?” I asked dubiously as we returned to the reception room.

“My dear, I hate to ask for special treatment, but sometimes celebrity has its perks.” We had arrived at the table arrayed with place cards. Tom and I found ours and checked the table numbers. “We’re in luck. We were already at the same table.” He grinned. “Let’s see whether your ‘friend’ is as well.” Obviously Tom had followed the same train of thought that I had. The cards had been placed in alphabetical order, so Liam’s card had been near Tom’s. He must have plucked them both off the table at the same time, because he was peering at it curiously already. He frowned slightly. “He is. Shall I misplace the card?” An adorable smirk played around the edges of his mouth. I suddenly knew he’d been a troublemaker as a child – but he’d probably gotten away with it most of the time.

“Don’t,” I whispered back. “It’s fine. Put it back.” Tom gave me a nod and a look that said, _‘As you wish,’_ as clearly as if he’d spoken, then put the card back in its place on the table. At least we’d get to the table before it was full and be able to choose our seats. I didn’t feel the need to avoid Liam completely, but I didn’t want to sit next to him all evening either. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms; still I didn’t hate him or wish him ill. I had, however, nothing that I wanted to say to him, at least in public, and certainly not in front of Tom.

The only people seated at our table, which was right up at the front, near the stage, were Kenneth Branagh and a lovely brunette woman with apple cheeks and an easy smile. Tom introduced to me to her as Kenneth’s wife, Lindsay. Kenneth stood up, shook my hand again, and hugged Tom. Then he turned back to me and indicated the chair next to him, but after Tom murmured something in his ear, he pulled out the chair next to Lindsay instead. As I thanked him, I realized that Tom had forgone sitting next to his friend so that Liam couldn’t possibly sit next to me. I looked at Tom as he sat down on my other side and smiled gratefully, hoping he could see that I understood what he had done for me. He reached over and squeezed my hand as he smiled back, then left his hand on top of mine on the table.

I looked at the remaining four chairs, wondering who would be joining us besides my ex-husband. I didn’t have long to ponder it, as Craig and his wife approached, with Keith and Liam close behind. “It looks like we’re outnumbered,” I murmured to Lindsay, who laughed and elbowed her husband.

Tom had leaned forward and caught Kenneth’s eye, and they practically looked like they were communicating telepathically. Tom flicked his eyes at Liam without moving his head, then frowned, then glanced at me. Kenneth raised both eyebrows and nodded almost imperceptibly. I had no idea what they had just agreed upon, but it appeared that Tom was trying to protect me in some way and enlisting his friend’s help to do it.

“What are you up to?” I whispered in Tom’s ear, which was right in front of me as he leaned towards Kenneth. “I can handle sitting across from Liam, it’s fine.”

“I’m just trying to ensure you have a pleasant evening, darling Carolyn,” he said, his lips by my ear. I wondered whether he would have acted so familiar without Liam as an audience across the table. Craig and Keith both looked faintly scandalised, while Craig’s wife, Lisa, looked impressed and perhaps a touch envious. I didn’t dare glance at Liam, lest I look as though I cared what he thought.

“Is everyone acquainted?” I asked, as much to break the silence as anything else. Once Liam and Lisa were introduced to Lindsay, everyone settled into their seats. If I leaned a bit toward Tom, the floral centrepiece blocked my view of Liam, which suited me just fine.

Unfortunately, Keith chose that moment to display his usual social ineptitude. “So Carolyn, I understand you and Liam trained at the same hospital?”

I smiled at Keith. Liam looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. I felt, rather than saw, Tom sit a little straighter in his chair, as though on alert. “Yes, we overlapped by a few years. But we weren’t in the same programme.” If I kept this vague, we could all get through this evening without embarrassment.

“But you do know each other?” Now Craig had joined in Keith’s display of cluelessness.

Liam cleared his throat. I dreaded what he would say but couldn’t think of a politic way to stop him from speaking. “When Caro was a paediatric resident, she would come to the emergency department for consultations.” He paused and glanced at me. I gazed levelly back, unable to communicate that I approved of what he’d said so far but that I hoped he’d stop there, or at least remain uninformative.

“Caro?” Tom barely breathed in my ear, and I swore I could _hear_ his smirk. I nodded, but kept my eyes on Liam. I didn’t want to miss what he might say, but I realized that he had stopped there, giving the impression that we were the most casual of acquaintances.

The ordeal wasn’t over. “When I spoke to the head of your department several years ago, before we hired you, I was under the impression that—“ Keith broke off, looking startled. Liam had placed his hand on Keith’s arm, and he must have said something under his breath.

“Dr Martin, may I speak with you for a moment? Privately?” Liam smiled with apparent effort. They stood up and left the table.

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding, realizing that I felt a little light-headed. Tom took my hand again, and he squeezed. “Are you all right? Do you need some air?”

I turned to look at him. He was just as attractive looking concerned as he had been smiling. I had a sudden inexplicable urge to kiss the little furrow between his eyebrows as he frowned at me.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to run into them, or be late for the start of the awards. I imagine it’s difficult to sneak back into this seat.” We were practically in front of the podium that had been placed on the stage for introductions, although we were much lower than the level of the stage. I took a drink of water. “There,” I said, squeezing his hand back. “All better.”

The last thing I wanted was for Tom to see me as emotionally damaged. It had been three years since I had moved to London alone, and two since the divorce was final. I hadn’t dated more than casually since that time, choosing to concentrate on my career and my hobby business, as well as learning a new city. I found myself incredibly drawn to him, and I didn’t want him to decide that getting to know me was a bad idea just because of this stupid chance meeting. What was Liam doing in London anyway? He knew I lived here, and he knew which hospital I worked in. Why was he here tonight? He must have counted on my dislike for events like this one when he accepted the invitation. Anyway, now I knew why Keith had pestered me into attending. I resolved not to be angry with Keith for his clumsy meddling since it had led to my meeting Tom.

Keith and Liam returned to the table and sat down. Keith avoided looking at me, but Liam met my eyes, his face apologetic. I nodded slowly, and then turned to Lindsay, intending to try my hand at small talk. I was saved from having to think of something to say by the arrival of our salads. I glanced down at my plate, and then spoke without thinking.

“Liam, you don’t want the salad.” Everyone stopped and stared at me. “He’s allergic to strawberries. He…anaphylaxes.” I realized that I had just blown away the claim that we were only acquaintances, but shrugged it off. Tom and Keith both knew some form of the truth, and Craig would hear it sooner or later from Keith. Kenneth and his wife wouldn’t care.

“Thank you,” Liam said, refusing the salad offered by the waiter. He grinned. “At least that lets me know that you don’t want me dead.”

Craig and Lisa looked puzzled as I answered with a laugh, “There’s too many doctors here tonight: strawberries wouldn’t work.”

Tom tried to suppress his laughter but failed. I turned to find him giggling in an impossibly cute manner. I turned to Kenneth. “Does he always laugh like that?”

Kenneth nodded and gave me a lopsided smile. “He does. Sets off everyone on the set when he does it, too.”

“I can see why.” I lowered my voice to a stage whisper and raised a hand to shield my mouth. “I think I’m in trouble. He’s too adorable.”

Lindsay smiled as Kenneth winked at me. “He’s a good man: a trustworthy friend, a marvellously talented actor, and a tender soul.”

“Good to know,” I said. “Thanks.”

The tension finally broken, the eight of us made our way through the various courses and talked about topics from silent movies to the difference between the US and UK healthcare systems. After dessert and coffee were served, the lights dimmed to signal the start of the speeches and awards. This event was both a fundraiser and an opportunity to recognise excellence in hospital employees. Most of the awards were given based on voting by employees and students; patients bestowed a few as well. A large display in the lobby trumpeted these achievements for a year, until the next awards were given.

After the necessary speech by the hospital trust chief executive welcoming us all and explaining the awards, the programme really got underway. Those of us with our backs to the stage had turned our chairs around. An hour passed, during which the presentations seemed to blur together. I was on my second cup of coffee, and Tom’s hand was playing idly with my hair, where my curls met the back of my dress. It felt delicious each time his fingers grazed the skin at the nape of my neck, and I was certain he was doing it on purpose. It was becoming hard to pay attention to the presenters. 

After a round of applause for the surgeon voted ‘Best Teacher’ by the house staff, Craig mounted the stage to present some awards from the paediatric department. I was thankful that this was the last part of the programme. Tom lowered his arm, resting it across the back of my chair, much to my disappointment.

“This year, as we gathered nominations for various awards in the Department of Paediatrics, one name kept being repeated: by the house staff, by the nurses, by the students, by the patients, and by the clinical staff. We realized that we would be calling the same person up to this stage multiple times, and that would get a bit tedious, if not outright silly. So this year, the paediatric department has, at the behest of all those groups, created a new award. You’ll be pleased to know that this is the only award that I’ll be presenting this evening, so that you can get back to your conversations. This doctor has only been working with us for a few years, but she has obviously made a major impact on the lives of her patients, students, and colleagues. I’m very pleased to give the first ever Edward Anthony Jenner Award for Clinical Excellence in Paediatrics to Dr Carolyn Foreman.”

If I had thought that the crowd’s enthusiasm was waning as the night wore on, I had been mistaken. The applause was deafening. I sat frozen in my chair until Tom gave me a nudge in the ribs. “Up you go, then,” he encouraged, grinning like a loon. I stood and made my way onto the stage, praying not to trip, not very used to walking in high-heeled shoes.

I shook Craig’s hand, and then grinned and hugged him. An enormous certificate sat framed on an easel. Obviously I wasn’t taking it home. I expected it would go directly from here to wherever the department wanted it displayed. Craig indicated the podium. I stepped to it with trepidation.

“Well, you’re in luck tonight, everyone,” I started out. “The best thing about a getting surprise award is that I couldn’t prepare a speech, so you don’t have to listen to one.” There was scattered laughter in the room. “I expect that this was arranged specifically so that you don’t have to hear too much of my horrible accent.” More laughter. 

From somewhere out in the room, I heard a man yell, “Yo!”

“I heard that, Dr Singh,” I mock-frowned in the general direction of his voice, since I couldn’t see past the stage edge due to the lighting. I exaggerated my natural accent. “Hey, Vini, don’t you be dissin’ Philly, now, yo.” I heard not only Liam’s laugh just in front of the stage, but also Tom’s “ehehehehehe” of a giggle. I grinned.

“All joking aside,” I paused, waiting for the room to become quiet. “I am deeply honoured that so many people think this highly of me. Every day, I try to be the best doctor to my patients, the best mentor to my students, and the best colleague to the doctors, nurses, and other staff that I can be. But I don’t do any of these things alone. I need my team. You all are my team, from the housekeeper who cleans the rooms to the cardiac surgeon. I can’t do it without you. I think this award belongs to all of you. Thank you.”

I stepped back from the podium to thunderous applause. As I squinted through the lights, I saw movement, and realized that people were rising from their chairs. I managed to navigate the stairs again without breaking an ankle, and found my way back to my seat. Tom was standing there, clapping, his smile so wide I was surprised his face didn’t split. He stopped applauding as I approached and took my hands. He leaned down to speak in my ear as the applause started to die down.

“See? You’re famous too.”

Tom had stepped back while dozens of my colleagues had come over to congratulate me. Several of them made jokes about the fact that Keith had gotten me there at all, since they knew I had avoided the event before this year. When the crowd around me had thinned, Tom returned to my side.

“So, can I convince you come out for a drink with me, or do you have to be getting home?”

I blinked at him, and then remembered to look at my watch. It was quarter past eleven.

“It’s not that late. That would be nice.” I didn’t want to sound too eager, but inwardly I was overjoyed at this evidence that Tom wasn’t just flirting with me to be polite. “I’ll have to get my jacket.”

We ambled over to the cloakroom and joined the line of people waiting to reclaim their coats. It had been pleasant outside when we arrived, but the London night would be cool enough for another layer at this hour.

“I thought that doctors started their days early,” Tom was saying. “Are you sure I’m not keeping you up too late?” I wondered for a second whether he had thought better of taking me out for a drink, when he continued. “The rest of your colleagues seem to be heading home. If this were a group of actors and crew, the party would just be getting started.”

“I’m a night owl who picked the wrong profession,” I started to say with a wry smile, but Liam appeared suddenly at my elbow. I stopped and looked at him, carefully keeping my face blank. I didn’t know what I felt about seeing him, but whatever it was, I wasn’t about to share it with him.

“Caro, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering…now that I’m here...can I meet with you, maybe take you to dinner or something? I have some things I want to…iron out.” He was pausing, choosing his words carefully, yet seemed unsure of what he wanted to say. He must have debated with himself whether or not to approach me, and then taken the plunge without thinking through what to say. I just wished he hadn’t.

I didn’t want to see him, and certainly didn’t want to spend an evening with him. Tom was carefully silent, but I couldn’t see his face. I decided that the fastest way to get rid of Liam was to take control of the situation.

“Liam, if you really feel the need to talk to me, meet me at my office, Monday, noon. Bring lunch. Okay?” I managed a tight smile. I was sure that he could find my office without my help, since he must be in communication with Craig and Keith. I had also made it blindingly obvious to Tom that I wasn’t happy about meeting with Liam, and that it couldn’t be construed as a date. I was still worried that the presence of my ex-husband would scare Tom off. Who wants to get involved in a messy situation? Yet I hadn’t seen Liam in years; we weren’t involved in any way. I silently cursed Keith and Craig again.

“Okay. See you then, with lunch.” Liam studied me another moment and then turned and walked away.

I turned back to Tom. “Well, there’s yet another reason to dread Monday,” I said, trying to make light of the situation.

“And why would you normally dread Monday?” He lifted one hand to the back of my neck and started to lightly massage there. Tension I hadn’t realized was there started to ease. It felt amazingly good, a somehow intimate gesture in the middle of a crowded room.

“This is one of the rare weekends that I have completely off,” I answered as I revelled in the warmth of his strong fingers on my neck. “I always try to do too much and sleep too little. Then I pay for it on Monday.”

“Does that mean I shouldn’t keep you out tonight, then?” He was obviously teasing.

“If you keep asking me that, I’ll think you’re trying to back out of your invitation,” I half-joked back.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I just want to be sure I’m not coercing you into staying out later than you should. This isn’t a limited time offer.” His face grew more serious. “If you don’t want to go out now, I’d like to see you another time. Dinner tomorrow, perhaps?”

“I do want to go out now. What I was about to say before Liam interrupted was that I’m really a night person. It doesn’t matter how early I have to get up, I can’t go to sleep early. I try to make it up with naps when I can. Since I take call at night, my sleep schedule’s really a mess anyway.” I debated asking him whether we could have dinner tomorrow anyway, but he beat me to it.

“Why don’t we plan on dinner tomorrow evening, regardless?” He gave me another of his little-boy grins. “Unless you want to hold off on answering until the end of this evening? You might get thoroughly tired of me over the next couple of hours.”

“I really doubt that,” I laughed as we reached the cloakroom. “Dinner tomorrow sounds great.” As I received my wrap from the attendant, Tom slipped her a tip. “You didn’t have to do that,” I started to say, but he bent to whisper in my ear.

“I know you’re used to being independent, but you need to let me play the gentleman.” He took my wrap from my arm and presented it for me to put on. I gave him a considering look and allowed him to fold the soft knit fabric around me. “That’s really lovely,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.”

I beamed. “Thank you. That’s because I designed it. I run a little business in my copious free time.” 

He looked impressed. “Brains, beauty, and creativity. You’re a triple threat. I don’t stand a chance,” he said, offering his arm.

Since I had no idea how to answer that gracefully, I settled for smiling up at him, my arm tucked into his, as we headed for the exit.


	2. Out on the Town

After a short taxi ride, Tom and I arrived at The Ladybird. I got evidence that Tom was famous enough to warrant special treatment as we were quickly shown to a table in a back corner, bypassing the long line of people waiting. I noticed several patrons craning their necks to watch Tom cross the room, and of course some of them turned their curious eyes on me as well. We were served quickly, and I could tell that the staff was subtly making sure we were undisturbed by other patrons. I was getting a little glimpse of how the rich and famous get treated. I wondered how much of a look I would get.

“I feel like I should explain a few things,” I said after I had tasted my truly amazing pomegranate martini.

“Are you free to date whomever you want?” I was puzzled by his seeming non sequitur, but I answered that yes, I was. “Then none of the rest of it matters.” He smiled. “Though I’ll admit I am curious what was going on this evening.”

“I actually don’t know!” My mouth twisted in frustration. “I don’t know why Liam is in London, who invited him tonight, or why he wants to talk to me now.” I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in three years, since before I moved to London.” I took another sip of my drink. “This is really good. Have you ever tried one of these?”

Tom smiled. “I don’t think it would mix well with Oban,” he said. He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Although under certain circumstances, I’m willing to risk it.”

His pale eyes were grey in the dim light as he leaned in to kiss me. His lips were soft on mine as his eyes closed and he raised one hand to cradle the back of my head, his long fingers tangling in my hair. Despite my surprise at being kissed in public, I responded, leaning into the kiss and even parting my lips slightly when I felt the tip of his tongue lightly exploring my bottom lip. I tasted coffee, Scotch, and Tom. I put out one hand for support as I leaned toward him in my chair, and found myself grasping his thigh, just above the knee. I could feel the well-defined muscles through the fine fabric. My pulse quickened as I suddenly pictured what these fit legs would look like without the trousers. I pulled back gently, breaking the kiss, but kept my hand on his leg.

We smiled at each other, our faces only a few centimetres apart. “Nice,” he murmured.

“You like the martini?” I asked teasingly.

He chuckled, a rich rumble rising from his chest. “That, too.”

I licked my lips. “I don’t usually like Scotch, but I liked that.” _Damn, Caro, why don’t you just invite him home with you?_ My sense of propriety battled with my sensuality; I wondered which would win out this evening. I didn’t think Tom was looking for a one-night stand, since he’d already asked me to dinner tomorrow night. That probably meant I shouldn’t escalate things tonight, though all I wanted to do at that moment was get him alone and see what his well-tailored three-piece suit was hiding. I pictured myself pulling him to me by his tie for a kiss much more heated than the one we’d actually shared. Instead, I sat back, ever so slightly increasing the distance between our faces. If this was going to happen, I didn’t want there to be that awkward morning-after that happens when two people rush into sex without getting to know each other at all. I want to know that I liked him, not just that I was attracted to him. _You haven’t had sex in six months,_ my inner hedonist railed. _Wait just a little longer,_ I told that part of myself. _Better to wait for a lot of sex than to get just one night and he’s gone, right?_

Tom smirked and glanced down at my hand, which was still on his knee. He had lowered his hand from my hair and was gently stroking my arm.

I pulled my hand back. “That’s a very nice suit,” I said, fingering one of his lapels. “Not many men go for a three-piece nowadays.”

He favoured me with a complex look that managed to convey the fact that he knew I was flustered, that I was covering for it, and that he was going to let me get away with it, but only because it amused him. “It’s Armani,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ve been told it suits my frame.”

“I’ll agree with that,” I said, trying not to smile. “But I can’t imagine what wouldn’t suit you, with your build.”

He grinned. “I look simply terrible in palazzo pants.”

The tension broken, we both burst out laughing. Tom signalled for the waiter.

“It’s getting very late. I should let you get some rest.” He put his mobile down on the table while he paid the bill, then picked it back up. “Have I been interesting enough to have earned your number?” he asked, his eyebrows high.

I recited my mobile number and explained that I didn’t have a home phone. I spent so much time at work that it didn’t make sense to have to check for messages at another number. Tom smiled. “I do that too,” he said. “Sometimes I have to live abroad for months at a time while filming.”

 _Great,_ I thought. _If this works out, you’ll have a long-distance relationship on your hands at some point._

Tom was still speaking. “Of course, I can afford to fly back home whenever there’s a couple of days’ break in filming. Last time I didn’t really have much of a reason to do that though.” I realized that, in the same way that I had tried to impart to Tom that Liam wasn’t a part of my life, he was now trying to reassure me that his career wouldn’t be an impediment to a relationship. _How interesting._

Suddenly my mobile rang, and I wondered who would be ringing me at this hour. Feeling stupid, I realized it was Tom, ringing my phone. “There,” he said. “Now you have my number, without the trouble of typing it in.”

I quickly saved his number as a new entry and returned the mobile to my purse. We rose, and as we started for the exit, Tom took my hand, interlacing our fingers. Once back on the street, we started walking south on Upper Street, toward Liverpool Road.

“May I see you home?” Tom asked, stopping to turn and face me. “I’ll stay in the taxi. I just want to know you’ve gotten home safely.” He leaned down and kissed me again, as softly as before.

“Alright,” I murmured against his lips. I breathed in the smell of him, Scotch and musky cologne and him, a wonderful masculine scent that made me want to get closer to him. Prolonging the evening by a ten-minute taxi ride was no hardship. I wasn’t certain I trusted myself not to ask him in once we got there.

“And then I’ll know where to pick you up for dinner tomorrow. Seven?” I blinked, slowly realising that he was asking whether that time was acceptable.

“Mmm-hmm,” I answered, my lips still brushing his. Suddenly his hands were in my hair and his lips were crushing down on mine. His tongue demanded entrance, and I acceded without hesitation. My hands found his chest, as much for balance as out of need, and I could feel his heart beating fast under my palm. Unable to stop myself, I moaned into his mouth as he plundered mine. He stopped kissing me, but didn’t pull away, and his hold on my head meant that we stayed that close, breathing each other in.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to get so carried away, not on a public street. I just wanted to show you that I’m not just…being polite. I’m really looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow night. Can you forgive me?” He was breathing hard, but maintaining his control.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I answered. _Except that you stopped,_ whined my libido. “I’m, uh, happy to know you, uh, want to see me again.” _How about, “Thank God, you want to fuck me as much as I want to fuck you?”_ suggested the slut in my head.

Tom laughed softly, and I was certain he could hear my inner monologue. “Let’s find a taxi,” he said, stepping back and taking up my hand again. I felt his thumb trace along my palm, sending a shiver through me. “Are you cold?” he asked with concern.

“No, I’m fine,” I assured him as a cab turned the corner. Tom flagged it down and held the door for me. I slid across the seat and he joined me, sitting close by my side, our thighs pressed together, his arm around my shoulders. I gave the driver the address of my block of flats, and Tom nodded.

“That’s a nice area,” he said approvingly.

“Well, it’s near to the hospital, and it’s safe. I like it.” With his arm around my shoulders, my hands were free, and I wasn’t sure where to put them. Deciding to be just a little forward, I placed my hand on his knee again, although this time the angle was different than when I’d been sitting opposite him in the club. He shifted slightly, and I felt his lean muscles flex under my hand. Once again the image of toned legs and the shapely arse that undoubtedly went with them rose unbidden to my mind.

I felt his breath in my ear. “You’re not shy, are you?” I could hear his mixture of amusement and approval despite the words being barely voiced.

“Would you prefer that I was?” My answer was a challenge, and as I spoke I ran my thumb a little way up his thigh for emphasis.

“Not. At. All.” Each word was quieter than the last, and I could feel his lips make contact with my ear on the last syllable. I turned my head and met his lips with mine. This kiss was less frenetic than the last one but more thorough, with the promise of much more to come. This time, we admitted openly that we desired each other, and that we would have each other. When the taxi stopped in front of my building, we parted reluctantly, slightly embarrassed that we had forgotten our audience.

“Text me when you’re safely in your flat. I’ll pick you up at seven.” His eyes ranged down my body and back up to my face. “A little less dressy than that, I think. I’ll be wearing a suit, but not a waistcoat.”

“Where are we going? I asked, standing next to the cab, the door open.

“I’d rather surprise you,” he said, giving me another dose of his wicked grin. “Is there anything I should avoid?”

“No, I’m pretty adventurous,” I said, and then blushed, realizing how that sounded. I didn’t want to correct myself though, since I didn’t want him to think that I wasn’t adventurous in areas other than food. Not for the first time that evening, I consciously turned my awkwardness into boldness, adding a saucy wink to my statement instead of backtracking. “I had a great time. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I closed the car door, and Tom put down the window. “I had a wonderful time too. I’m glad I met you. I’m glad you agreed to come out with me.” The joking demeanour was gone now, replaced by a boyish earnestness that was incredibly endearing. I took two steps back toward the car and gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning and heading toward the building entrance. “Remember to text me!” he called. I waved my agreement back and opened the door. Only after I had passed through it did the taxi pull away.

I crossed the lobby and entered the lift in a daze. My body was still buzzing from being so aroused all evening. I knew I was going to have to do something about that in order to sleep, though I wasn’t sure that I would be able to fall asleep regardless. It had been rather an eventful evening, all told. I suddenly remembered Liam’s unexpected appearance and his request to meet with me, and my mood came crashing down. I had forgotten about him completely while I was out with Tom. I resolved to think about Liam as little as possible as I unlocked the door to my flat.


	3. A Warm Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caro arrives back home after her eventful evening...a bit frustrated.

Flipping on the light, I kicked off my heels and left them in the hallway. I dropped my handbag on the little table there and fished out my mobile. I decided that a warm bath would be the best thing to help me find sleep tonight, so I set the taps to run and hung up my dress before scrolling though my contacts to find Tom’s number.

\--No hijackers on lift. Home safe. Thanks again for lovely evening. – Caro

My bath had just finished filling and I was shedding the rest of my clothes when Tom texted back.

\--So glad to hear the lift was free of peril. I’m home as well. Not sleepy. You? – Tom

 _The man even texts in full sentences. He must be using both thumbs,_ I thought as I settled in to the almost-too-hot water, being sure to keep my left hand dry, and carefully tapped out a reply with my thumb.

\--Not sleepy. Trying warm bath to relax. – Caro

His reply came quickly.

\--You’re in the bath? – T

I grinned to myself. I knew I had his full attention. How naughty did I want to be? I took my time, making sure there were no typos despite typing with my off hand.

\--Yes. It seems to help when I’m too riled up to sleep. – C

\--What has you riled up? – T

\--As if you don’t already know. – C

\--Are you saying your inability to sleep is my fault? – T

\--Yes. I guess you’re too exciting. – C

\--I’m too exciting? You’re the one naked in the bath. – T

\--Yes, I am. – C

There was a longer gap this time, and I imagined Tom was weighing how far to go: follow up on my innuendos or back down.

\--And what do you plan to do in the bath?

I noticed he’d dispensed with signing his texts. I wondered whether he’d made a conscious decision to do so or whether he was just too eager to notice.

\--Blow off a little steam. Get tension relief.

Thirty seconds later, the phone rang. He didn’t bother with “Hello.”

“Let me hear you. I know you make noise; you moaned when I kissed you.” His voice was husky, and he was breathing a little quickly, obviously turned on.

I made a low sound, remembering the kiss. “Do I get to hear you? Talk me through it.”

I heard his sharp intake of breath. “You’re a wicked woman, aren’t you?” The words rolled out of the mobile and into my ear, rich and deep and knowing. “You are going to touch yourself, make yourself come, and you’re going to imagine that I am doing it. You’re going to imagine that a man you just met tonight is touching your body, doing intimate things to you. And you’re going to let me hear every gasp, every moan. You’re going to call out my name, even though I’m not there.” Each of these sentences was a command, and hearing them set my body on fire. I had never in my life heard a voice that full of sex, even though it was being filtered through the tiny speaker of my mobile.

“I’m going to put you on speaker,” I said, my voice a little shaky. “I’ll need both hands free.”

His evil laugh floated out of my mobile as I set it on the edge of the tub. “Yes, you will.” I shivered, despite the warm water. How did he do that with his voice? What would this man be like when he actually got me into bed? I found myself very eager to find out.

“Are you ready?” he asked, though there was no hint of patience in his tone. “Do exactly as I say. You will not do anything that I don’t tell you to do. Do you understand, Caro?”

I was so aroused by his commanding tone that at first I only nodded, my eyes closed, before realizing that I needed to speak. “Yes, Tom,” I answered, my voice strange to me, breathy.

“Close your eyes. I am behind you, your head rests on the front of my shoulder, your back lies against my chest and belly; your legs are bracketed by mine. My arms are around you, my left hand on your right breast, my right hand on your belly. Can you feel me, Caro?”

“Yes,” answered as I placed my hands where he told me his were resting.

“I’m kissing you, right on the pulse point of your throat. I start to tease your right nipple, pinching and stroking until you wriggle and squirm against me. Your nipples are hard now, aren’t they? Tell me.”

“Oh, yes,” I breathed, toying with my nipple as he directed. I longed to slide my other hand down between my legs, but I had promised to follow his directions. I wanted to play his game, so I resolved to follow his rules.

He seemed able to read my mind. “You want me to touch you, to plunge my hand under the surface of the water and explore the most intimate part of you. You want to feel my fingers inside you. You want me to play with your pretty little clit, don’t you?”

“God, yes!” I choked out, finding it almost impossible not to give up and frantically bring myself to climax. My clit ached to be touched. 

“Not yet.” I was too preoccupied to ponder how he managed to hiss two words that contained no sibilants. My right hand stopped in the downward slide I had been largely unaware it was making, and I whimpered. He laughed again, the sound rich and low. “I’ll get there when I’m ready, and not before. If you’re not a good girl, I won’t let you come at all.”

I gasped, so turned on that I felt like my skin was on fire, despite being submersed in warm water. No man had ever spoken to me this way. Tom was managing to dominate me with his voice alone, pushing buttons I hadn’t even known I possessed. Some perverse part of me, however, demanded that I push back.

“Come back here,” I willed my voice to stay steady. I drew in a long breath. “Come back here and make me obey you.”

“Ooh, I don’t think so,” he answered. “I think you’ll obey me right now…because you want to. You choose: hang up the phone and do as you like; tomorrow night I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Obey me now…and tomorrow night I’ll be your perfect lover.” The last three words were no more than a whisper, almost inaudible, though I heard them quite clearly.

The promise of having Tom in my bed tomorrow night was almost too much to bear; several scenarios whipped through my mind, each more erotic than the last. I couldn’t resist any more when giving in was what I wanted.

“God, yes,” I breathed. “Tell me what to do, please.”

“That’s better,” Tom purred. “I knew you’d want to be a good girl for me. I’m sliding my hands over your breasts, down your sides, over your hips, down your thighs. When I can’t reach any further, I start to slide my hands slowly, slowly up the inside of your thighs, a whisper of a touch. Do you like that, Caro?”

“Yes,” was only a whisper as I answered, afraid that he would stop talking if I stayed silent.

“I reach the top of your inner thighs and trace up, around your outer lips. When my fingers meet at the top, I slide them down, straight down, brushing your clit and finding your hot little slit.” He paused to listen to my moan of pleasure as my fingers grazed my clit and settled at my opening. “Now, you are no blushing virgin, so I’m going to start with two fingers. I plunge the first two fingers of my left hand inside you, deep inside you, because I know you want it; I know you’ll be wet enough to take it, and you’ll love it. Tell me, Caro.”

Tom knew perfectly well how I felt; he heard my moan as I drove two fingers into myself, imagining how his larger ones would fill me up. I was desperate for him to let me touch my clit, as that was the only way I was going to come. At that moment, though, I wondered whether Tom could possibly make me climax just by talking me up to it.

“Tell me, Caro,” his voice took on a hard edge, a slight hint of menace, impatience at having to repeat himself. It only made me hotter.

“I love it.”

“You love what?” The question was asked levelly, coolly.

“I love…having your fingers inside me.”

“Tell me that you love it when I finger-fuck you.”

Another spike of arousal hit me from the effect of such vulgar language delivered in his posh-sounding accent. “I love it. I love it when you finger-fuck me, Tom.”

“Very good. You get a reward, Caro. I’m going to let you climax soon, but you have to follow my rules. Do you understand?”

“What…rules?” I panted, my fingers still rhythmically filling me up, my knees bent to help me reach deeper inside. My right hand hovered nearby, waiting for direction.

“You will touch yourself only where I direct, and how I direct. If I say stop, you will stop immediately. And the only words you may say from this point forward are ‘yes,’ ‘please,’ and ‘Tom.’ Have you got that?”

“Yes, Tom!”

“Good.” The word oozed into my ear, sounding both smug and sexy. “Just as the fingers of my right hand start flicking your little button of a clit, I add a third finger inside you, stretching you, filling you. I’m teasing you, rubbing your clit hard for a few seconds then becoming more gentle, changing pace without warning. I bring you to the edge, again and again, but refuse to let you tip over into orgasm, deny you that release. You’re writhing against me, pinned in place by my hands in your most intimate place. I can hear you, Caro. I can hear your desperation, your need. You want to come so…very…much…don’t you?”

“Yes…Tom…please!” I used only those words, not because I had been forbidden to use any others, but because, at that moment, I didn’t have any others.

“I plunge my fingers into you faster and faster as I stop teasing and rub your clit in little circles, hard and fast. My mouth is on your neck; you can hear me breathing heavily in your ear as I suck hard, leaving a mark. You barely feel it though, because of the sensations I am giving you between your legs. Your thighs are spread open for me; you have no shame as you near the orgasm I will give you. But you can’t come yet—I haven’t given you permission.”

My vision darkened as I strained simultaneously toward climax and struggled not to come until he willed it. I had come this far in the game, and I didn’t want to disappoint him now.

“Do you remember what you are allowed to say?”

I swallowed. “Yes!” I was barely able to put voice behind the word.

“Now beg for it. Beg me to let you come.”

A noise escaped me, a high-pitched keen as I tried to maintain my balance on the razor’s edge. I couldn’t remember having ever stayed so close to orgasm for so long. I drew in a deep breath, and put all of my need into one word: “please.”

“Please…what?” I simultaneously wanted to kill him and fuck him senseless. What was left of my conscious mind raced and I realized the answer he wanted.

“Please, Tom!” It was both a shout and a sob.

“You. May. Come.” The three words were quiet but authoritative. I increased the speed and pressure of my right hand by the slightest bit and surrendered as the orgasm rolled over me, dragging me under into a sweet oblivion of sensation that seemed to go on and on, wave after wave of pleasure wracking my body. I distantly heard Tom’s appreciative comments as he listened to the inarticulate noises I was making, all dignity swept aside.

As the orgasm subsided, I started to feel cold; the water had cooled considerably since I had been in the bath, but I hadn’t noticed while I was warmed by my lust. I realized I needed to get out of the water before I simply passed out. My limbs had no strength, and I was completely exhausted.

“Caro? Are you there?” Tom’s voice, back somehow to a normal, friendly tone, prodded me into motion. I stood and grabbed my robe as I answered.

“Yes, Tom.” I was thinking slowly, and unwittingly still used only the ‘allowed’ words.

He chuckled, pleased, a hint of the domineering persona resurfacing. “We’re done with that, for now. Talk to me. I’d ask whether you liked that, but I’m quite certain that I know the answer.” He sounded incredibly smug, but then I supposed he had earned it.

I pulled the drain plug, stepped out of the tub, and wrapped myself in the plush terrycloth robe, not bothering with a towel first. I picked up my mobile, and turned off the speaker. Lifting it to my ear as I left the bathroom, I thought fast, my wits returning rapidly. I wanted to be appreciative, but not fawning. I couldn’t let him think that this would be the only dynamic in our relationship. “That was…nice,” I said, making sure my voice was clear, my tone conversational.

I could practically hear his eyebrows shoot up. “’Nice?’” he asked. I could tell he was trying to play the same game as me, but a hint of outrage crept in nonetheless, making me smile. He might be a professional actor, but he was currently, if my calculation was correct, a very sexually frustrated one. I was pretty sure that I would have noticed if he’d brought himself off. I hadn’t heard him be anything but self-assured and in control the entire time. If he had muted his phone, there would have been a suspicious silence. I was betting that he was still as hard as a rock, probably sitting on his bed with his mobile at his ear and his cock in his hand.

I recalled the ultimatum he had given me earlier in the evening. “So, Tom, was I a good girl? Which date do I get tomorrow night: the perfect gentleman, or the perfect lover? A girl needs to plan ahead.” I grinned, picturing him on the other end of the line.

“It sounded like you were a very good girl,” he answered, all traces of impatience gone. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.” He emphasised ‘seeing,’ and added, “since just hearing you was quite spectacular by itself.”

“I can’t imagine you’ll be disappointed,” I answered, still teasing him. “I just hope you can live up to my imagination. You’ve set the bar rather high now.”

“Well, Caro, if I were you, I’d be more worried about making it to your little meeting on Monday than whether you’ll be satisfied.” His tone changed from mocking to intense, almost angry. “When I’m done with you, you won’t know your own name.”

He stayed on the line only long enough to hear me gasp. His answering laugh was cut off abruptly as he rang off. I stared in shock at the mobile in my hand. Despite having been surprised by my teasing, he had regained the upper hand.

As I finished getting ready for bed, I wondered which Tom was the real one: the affable, smiling gentleman, or the wicked, dominant control-freak? What bothered me the most was that I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the proprietress of the Tom Hiddleston Sexual Frustration Blog (http://thfrustration.tumblr.com/) for the idea of texting after the date. I took it and swam with it.
> 
> What does one call the mistress of a mind bordello? "Lady Callahan" has long been taken...


	4. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caro spends her Sunday getting ready for dinner out with Tom. He's such a gentleman...

Normally I spent my Sunday off catching up on chores. I had to rearrange my ‘to-do’ list to accommodate my new priorities: get the flat clean enough for company and be ready on time, looking fabulous. I was glad that I had splurged on a spa visit before the charity event yesterday, so I didn’t need to worry about things like hair removal or a pedicure.

I made myself get up earlier than I normally would have, and after coffee and a light breakfast, scrubbed the bathroom from top to bottom. I knew that Tom would see the room, and was pretty sure he’d wind up in my shower at some point. I tidied up my forest of lotion bottles and cosmetics cases, shoehorning as much as possible into the drawers and cabinets. Once I deemed the room presentable, I started in on the rest of the flat.

There was only so neat that it was going to be, but I tried to make sure nothing too embarrassing was lying out. I picked up a book of erotic short stories I had left on the table next to the couch the week before and shelved it, noting my place with a bookmark. I’m guessing I won’t need that for a while, I thought with a smirk.

I glanced over my small DVD collection and wondered what Tom would think of such a meagre selection. There was, of course, nothing there in which he appeared—I had checked his filmography online before going to bed, just to make certain that I really hadn’t seen him in anything. I had decided that he looked a little familiar to me because I must have caught an episode or two of Wallander whilst flipping through channels. 

I tackled the bedroom last, putting my nicest sheets on the bed. They were ludicrously high thread count cotton in a rich burgundy that I knew made the blue of my eyes pop. I suddenly realised that Tom’s eyes would look absolutely amazing with this colour backdrop as well. I allowed myself to get lost in my reverie for only a moment before continuing on with my tasks.

I opened the bedside drawer and checked my supply of condoms. I expected that Tom would bring some, since there was no question that we planned to have sex tonight, but it was always best to be prepared. It had been so long since I’d had a lover that I was worried mine might have expired. Amazingly, they were good for another year. I smiled and put the box back into the drawer and closed it. Just as I was about to turn away, I noticed that there was something sticking out of the drawer: the corner of a black silk scarf. 

I reopened the drawer and pulled the scarf out, thinking. Fishing around in the back of the drawer, I came up with a second, matching one. The memory of the last time I had used them was pleasant and melancholy at the same time. Liam wasn’t very adventurous in bed, but he had agreed to try little light restraint on me, and he had, as I’d expected, been more turned on by tying me up than he had anticipated. I must have stuffed the scarves into the drawer when I moved in to the flat and forgotten them.

I considered the silk rectangles for a moment, and then knelt near the head of the bed in order to loop them around the bedposts. I tucked them down out of sight, uncertain whether and how I wanted to use them tonight. Again, better to be prepared.

The rest of the day passed quickly, but I was still able to fit in a swim and drop in at my local yarn shop for a little socialising. The third time I looked at my watch, one of my friends asked me why I was so impatient. I grinned sheepishly and admitted that I had a date that night, and I was quite looking forward to it. The group pressed for details, but I kept my answers vague enough that no one could identify Tom, saying only that he worked in ‘entertainment.’ I had to promise that, if a relationship developed, I would one day bring Tom by the shop to meet everyone (so that they could decide whether they approved of him, of course).

At five o’clock I started back to my flat, wanting plenty of time to get ready. I stopped on the way for milk and a few breakfast items, just in case Tom stayed the night. I had already chosen what I would wear. I just needed to shower, dress, and fix my hair and makeup. I wanted to be totally ready and waiting when he arrived, with no hint of anxiousness, no rushing about. I was aiming to look self-assured and in control, though I felt sure somehow that I wouldn’t stay that way. Tom seemed to have a way of disarming me, putting me off-balance.

As I showered and dressed, I wondered what restaurant Tom had chosen. I had travelled all over the world with Liam, and I was open to pretty much every cuisine, so I wasn’t worried about not liking the selection. I was just curious to see what Tom thought would impress me.

I stood in front of the mirror, satisfied with my reflection in sexy lingerie. I had chosen classic black, as it both accentuated my pale skin and wouldn’t clash with the wine-coloured sheets. The bra showcased my breasts while still looking classy. The matching panties were sexy yet comfortable—I wore a thong for no man. A lacy belt and suspenders held up sheer black stockings, and I slipped my feet into a pair off off-beat black pumps that added three inches to my height, but were comfortable enough to run in. I was pretty sure that Tom would approve of my choices, unless he was so focused on removing it all that he didn’t stop to appreciate the view. In my experience, most men’s brains short-circuited when they discovered that a lady, especially one who was dressed in a tasteful manner, was wearing stockings with suspenders.

As for the dress, I had decided that a little black dress was always an acceptable answer to the question of what to wear on a date. This one had a sweetheart neckline, three-quarter length sleeves, and fell to just above the knee. It also showed my curves to great advantage. If Tom had been attracted to me last night, when I hadn’t been trying to impress, he would be gobsmacked tonight.

With my curly hair, I didn’t have too many options. I settled on a style that framed my face with romantic tendrils but kept my hair under control. When I left it down, I was forever brushing wayward curls out of my eyes. I kept my makeup light and natural, since that was how I always did it, and Tom had seemed happy enough with my face. He would see me without makeup at some point, so there wasn’t much sense in troweling on a mask of foundation.

I was ready with twenty minutes to spare. I swept through the apartment once more, trying to look at it as if I were seeing it for the first time. What did it say about me? I saw books, the television, a basket of knitting. I double-checked the sofa for stray knitting needles. Liam had once put his hand down on a needle I hadn’t known I’d dropped and needed three stitches. I shelved a few more books that I had missed on the bottom shelf of a side table, and shut the stack of medical journals I kept meaning to read in a cabinet.

The doorbell chime surprised me, as it was only ten till seven. It dawned on me that Tom was playing the same game that I was: he had arrived early on purpose. He was intending to catch me before I was ready, to make me a little flustered and give him the upper hand from the very start of the evening. I pressed the button for the intercom. “Yes?”

“It’s me, Tom. I’m sorry I’m a little early. I overestimated the traffic.” Of course he had a good excuse for why he was early, but with how soon he reported arriving home last night after dropping me off, I suspected that he lived relatively close by. 

“I’m ready. I’ll just come down.” I wasn’t completely comfortable with how much control I had relinquished to him last night, and it made me perversely eager to throw a wrench in his plan, whatever it was.

“I’ve brought something for you. I doubt you’ll want to carry it along.” He had ensured that I would ask him up before we went out. For an instant I wondered whether he was actually dangerous, and meant to do me harm. I dismissed the notion as silly, largely on the strength Kenneth Branagh’s unsolicited recommendation. That I’d even entertained the idea showed how his transformation last night from gentleman to sexual taskmaster had thrown me. I couldn’t get a read on him, and it simultaneously frightened and excited me.

“Come up then,” I told him, pushing the button that released the door lock. “Sixth floor, turn right off the lift, end of the hall, 6D.” I had a corner flat, and the extra windows really made it feel larger and more open. Being on the sixth floor gave me privacy, even with the curtains open.

A few minutes later, I heard a jaunty double-tap on my door. I opened it to find Tom, even more attractive than I’d remembered, dressed in a grey suit with a white shirt and a darker grey tie with a subtle grid of white dots. He was holding a single red rose, which he offered to me.

“Carolyn! You look…” he paused to run his eyes over me, making me feel as though he could see through my dress. “Ravishing. Lovely. Certainly much more beautiful than I deserve.”

I ducked my head as I took the rose from him. “Thank you. Come in, while I put this in water.” As he stepped forward and kissed me, very gently, on the lips, I caught a hint of his cologne. He smelled absolutely delicious. It was only by sheer effort of will that I didn’t grab him by the shoulders and snog him senseless. “You look pretty fantastic yourself,” I said instead, grateful my voice stayed level. I shut the door behind him and crossed the short distance to the kitchen. He stood in the doorway while I pulled a bud vase out of a cabinet, cut the stem under running water, and put the rose in the vase.

“I’m rather partial to roses,” I said. Tom had been watching me closely the whole time. “They’re beautiful, but you have to watch out for the thorns, or you’ll get hurt handling them. Very like people.” Tom looked startled, as though he’d just realized I’d been speaking.

“So, shall we go? Do we have a reservation time we need to meet?”

“Seven-thirty. It’s about fifteen minutes by taxi. I think we have a few minutes. Can I see your flat?”

Since my flat consisted of four rooms plus a bath, that seemed reasonable. I didn’t want to open the door to what was meant to be a second bedroom, but which I used as my knitting studio. “It’s a disaster,” I protested.

“If you haven’t tidied it up, it will tell me more about you than the rest of the flat.” He was in earnest-little-boy mode again. I found that I couldn’t resist, so I opened the door.

Tom stood in the doorway, surveying the room. I tried to look at it with unbiased eyes, as I had the rest of the flat earlier. There were shelves of books, many shoved in any which way. Yarn occupied every sort of container: baskets, boxes, bags, and plastic tubs. A dressmaker’s dummy wore a shawl, a cardigan, and a scarf. Knitting needles fanned out of vases. A corkboard was completely covered in sketches, notes, and phone messages. I decided that it looked like the studio of a whirling dervish on speed, if dervishes knit. I looked at Tom.

“Wow,” he said. “A lot goes on in here.” He stepped over to the dummy and touched the shawl, fine lace in a royal blue. “This is gorgeous.” He looked back at me, as if seeing something new. “You designed this?”

“Yes. It’s one of my best-selling designs, in patterns and made-to-order. In fact, I meant to wear that tonight, but I forgot where I’d left it.” Tom took the shawl from the dummy and brought it to me, draping it around my shoulders and stepping back.

“That’s really lovely.” He paused, searching my face. “You’re pretty amazing.” He looked into my eyes and my knees went weak.

“Thank you,” I managed. “I think you’re pretty special too.”

He shrugged. “Me? I’m just a guy in a suit. Tonight everyone’s going to be looking at the beautiful woman in the incredible outfit.”

I smirked. “Now you’ve gone too far. I saw what happened last night. You attract attention like you were born to it. You ooze charisma. You could be wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and you’d turn heads.”

“I beg to differ, but let’s just agree that we’ll be the best-looking couple in town tonight, shall we?” His grin was back, and I couldn’t help but smile as well. “Let’s go.”

When the taxi pulled up at Nobu, I had trouble containing my delight. I was a regular here, having picked up a permanent craving for certain Japanese dishes when Liam and I had spent several months there in 2007. Sunday night was one of the times I tended to eat here, since it was not one of their busier times, and I was able to keep up my Japanese by sitting at the sushi bar and chatting with the chef.

Tom looked at me curiously as I was greeted warmly by the host, who was overjoyed to hear that I was there on a date, rather than alone. My single status was always a topic brought up when I dined there, and my responses to why I didn’t have a boyfriend had gotten sillier and ever more creative over time (my latest excuse had been that aliens had kidnapped all the suitable men for genetic experiments). The host made sure to walk us past the sushi bar on the way to our seats, and I was aware of Tom’s astonishment as the old sushi chef greeted me in Japanese.

Once we were seated, Tom spoke. “So, you speak Japanese. And they know you here.” He sounded neutral, and I couldn’t tell what he thought.

I answered that yes, both these things were true, and described my temporary job in Tokyo that had left me fluent in Japanese and with a permanent craving for abalone. I had tried several high-end sushi bars after settling in London, and was of the opinion that Nobu was the best of them. Luckily it wasn’t terribly far from work and home.

“Where else have you been? Have you picked up any other languages? I speak a little French and a little Spanish, but I wouldn’t say I’m fluent. And I read ancient Greek, but nobody speaks that.” He sounded very self-effacing, though that was a lot more than most people knew. I had an affinity for languages, and I thought it was terrible how most English-speaking countries failed to teach children other languages early enough for them to really learn them well.

After we placed our order, we chatted about our favourite places we’d visited around the world. He was quite well travelled himself, and had been to a lot of places I had never been.

“There’s nothing so peaceful as sailing around the islands near Greece in the summertime,” he told me, obviously remembering a favourite vacation. I admitted that I had never been sailing for pleasure. I’d taken boats as transportation, but I’d never lingered on the water on purpose. “I’ll have to take you, then,” he said, taking my hand and raising it to his lips. “You’ll love it.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Planning ahead a bit, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “I just have a feeling, that’s all.”

We took our time with our meal, talking and laughing, Tom’s long legs stretched out under the table to rest against mine. The contact was somehow comfortable and familiar, new and exciting at the same time.

As the waiter brought the bill, I began to get nervous. What came next? Did Tom have something planned, or were we going straight back to my place? He left me in the dark until we were back out on the pavement in front of the restaurant. He turned to face me, taking both my hands in his and drawing me closer.

“It’s nine o’clock. I don’t know how late you want to stay out. We could go for a drink, or go dancing.” He kissed me, slowly and deliberately. “We can do anything you like.”

I smiled up at him. He had been nothing but chivalrous all evening. I was beginning to wonder whether I had fallen asleep in the bath and dreamed the whole masturbation incident. I pulled my hands from his and placed them on his chest. I felt something hard under my right hand, and looked quizzically at Tom. “What’s this?” I asked.

Looking a little sheepish, Tom pulled a toothbrush out of his inside jacket pocket. “I was assuming I’d need a couple things since I wasn’t planning on going home this evening. Want to know what else I have in there?” He gave me a crooked smile that said he knew I’d forgive his presumption.

I pressed over the pocket again, and heard a crackling sound: the foil packet of a condom. I fished it out with my other hand. “Only one?” I asked cheekily as I examined it.

“Oh, I know you’re a smart girl,” he said easily. He leaned in to murmur in my ear as he took the condom back. “That one was for if we went out after dinner, and I decided I couldn’t wait. That one was just in case we needed to have a dirty, frantic bang in a back alley. I’d rather take you home and fuck you properly.”

My mouth went dry and my mind went blank as all the blood in my body seemed to boil. I was suddenly so turned on that I could barely stand. I clutched at Tom’s jacket to keep from stumbling back. “Find a cab,” I breathed. “Take me home.”

“As my lady wishes,” he said with a saucy wink, turning to hail a taxi.

I hadn’t imagined it, after all.


	5. Submission

In the back seat of the taxi, Tom crowded close to me, his mouth at my ear, his hand on my knee.

“I have so many decisions to make…for instance, shall I remove your clothes slowly, savouring every new bit of exposed flesh, or shall I tear them from your body?” His hand started to travel slowly up my thigh, pushing up the skirt of my dress. He stopped suddenly when he felt the stocking end and the naked skin above it. “You naughty girl,” he chided. “That does it: I’ll need to undress you slowly. I must see you in only panties and stockings.” His voice dropped even lower, unvoiced syllables dropped directly into my ear. “I’ll bet you look like a high-class prostitute.” His fingers dipped under the elastic at the top of the stocking. “I know you’ll look completely fuckable. Maybe I’ll make you leave the stockings on.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, not sure I could control my voice. I turned my head to find him studying me, his eyes unreadable in the darkened car, his face serious. He looked sexy and intense, almost frightening. That hint of menace I had heard over the phone was plain on his face. I didn’t think I was in any real danger, but he projected the aura of a man not to be trifled with. I decided to play along, for now at least.

“However you want me, Tom,” I answered.

He smiled then, not the open, easy grin he’d show me before, but an evil, knowing look that said, “I have plans for you.” I shivered in anticipation, unsure what I was getting myself into tonight.

The taxi arrived at my building, and Tom transformed temporarily back into the affable fellow he showed the public. He helped me out of the cab and paid the driver, taking my elbow as we turned toward the entrance. Ushering me through the lobby and into the lift, he tapped the button for the 6th floor. Turning back to me, he surprised me by kissing me suddenly, passionately. One hand cradled my head while the other wound around my waist, pulling me close. When the lift stopped, he pulled back.

“I’ve been waiting to do that all night,” he said. “I knew if I kissed you like that before dinner, we wouldn’t have gone out. That would have been a shame.” He tugged me out of the lift by one wrist and hurried me down the hall to my door. As I fished the key out of my handbag, he wrapped his arms around me from behind and kissed the side of my throat. “Can’t you get us inside any faster?” he murmured against my skin. I couldn’t make my hands stop shaking, but I finally got the key into the lock and turned it.

I practically fell into my flat as Tom crowded me through the doorway. One long arm shot out, slammed the door shut behind us, and threw the deadbolt. I found myself spun around and then Tom was kissing me with an urgency that took my breath away. My handbag hit the floor, forgotten.

“Come on now,” he said, in between kisses. “I’m taking you to bed.”

“Uh-uh,” I managed, and he stopped and looked down at me sharply. I smiled, my eyes hooded. “I’m taking you to bed.”

The wolfish smile was back. “Oh, really?” he asked, sweeping me off my feet into a bridal carry as I whooped in surprise. “I think not.”

“All right,” I said as I put my arms around his neck. “I surrender.”

His grin vanished, and his level gaze made him look even more predatory. “You’re just saying that now,” he said as he carried me through the flat to my bedroom. “But you will.”

Since he’d seen the flat earlier, Tom already knew that I had turned down the bedcovers and left a lamp on when we went out, and he smiled knowingly now as we entered the room. “You have no shame, do you? You planned to bring me back here and let me fuck you, didn’t you?” It was obvious that was true, and we’d said as much the night before, but just as obviously Tom got off on pointing out how willing I was.

“Yes,” I said, boldly meeting his eyes. “So what are you waiting for?”

He growled then and tossed me onto the sheets. He stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, breathing hard, staring at me lying in a dishevelled heap where I’d landed. I was surprised that he was strong enough to actually throw me rather than drop me, and it just made me more eager to see the body under the suit.

Regaining some of his composure, Tom unbuttoned his suit jacket, removed it, and tossed it on a chair, quickly followed by his tie and his belt. He opened the top two buttons of his shirt as he toed off his shoes and peeled off his socks, all without breaking eye contact, pinning me in place with his gaze. He looked self-assured, powerful, and sexy as hell. I wasn’t startled when he crawled up the bed, coming to hover over top of me, moving like a panther with grace and intent.

“I have thought of nothing but this since last night,” he told me, grinding his hips into mine, making me gasp. I could feel his cock, hard as iron, through the layers of clothing. “Last night, you taunted me, with your sighs and your groans. Tonight, you are mine. I will make you mine, and mine alone. I will ruin you for any other lover. You will surrender to me, completely, utterly.” He kissed me then, taking and devouring as he slid one knee up to press between my legs. I moaned, and he laughed as he left my mouth to ravage my throat.

He continued his downward exploration, until he ran out of exposed skin. To my disappointment, he took his knee away and surprised me by rolling away to stand up at the side of the bed. Before I could say anything, he grabbed one of my ankles and jerked me roughly across the bed, so that my arse was at the edge and my dress rode up to my waist in the back. “Sit up,” he commanded.

Once I had pushed myself up, he slid his hands up under my dress. “Off.” Together we tugged the knit fabric over my head, and Tom let it fall to the floor, his eyes on my breasts, decorated in black lace. “Very, very nice,” he told me. “I like that you wore that for me. Now stand up, and take it off.” 

I did as he commanded, rising to my feet, still wearing my black pumps, and releasing the clasp that sat between my breasts. With my breasts freed from their confinement, my nipples grew hard at the sudden touch of cooler air. Tom stood there, a few steps back, still fully clothed but obviously aroused. His eyes glowed in the lamplight, his cheeks were flushed, and his breathing was even but heavier than normal.

“I knew you'd be beautiful. Now turn around. Show yourself to me.” His voice was iron, covered in velvet.

I turned slowly, hoping I looked submissive but not awkward, keeping my eyes on the floor. As I finished my slow circle, facing Tom again, I cupped my breasts in my hands, presenting them to him as I lifted my eyes to his face.

The gleam in Tom’s eyes told me that I had performed as he wished, or maybe just that he liked my breasts. Suddenly, he closed the gap between us, thrusting one hand into my hair and pulling my head back, exposing my throat to his hungry mouth. With his other hand he palmed one breast, running his thumb across my nipple. I gasped at the sudden attack and the multiple sensations. I couldn’t stand that he was still dressed. I wanted to touch his skin. I slid my hands up his chest and started to work his shirt buttons. He stopped my hands, his face dark.

“Did I give you permission to undress me?” he rasped. He seemed to require an answer.

“No,” I answered.

He frowned. “No, _what?”_

My stomach fluttered; he looked menacing, dangerous. “No, _Tom,”_ I replied, raising my chin and holding his gaze. _I’ll play your game,_ I thought. _But you don’t really scare me._

He laughed quietly, surprising me. “You’re going to learn, Caro. I’m going to teach you how to please me. I promise you the rewards will be worth it.” As he spoke, he slid one hand down the curve of my back, over my hip, and across my thigh. When his fingers met my panties, he curled them, rubbing me through the satiny fabric, making me writhe. “I know you want this,” he taunted. “So be a good girl, and do what I tell you.”

“Yes, Tom.” I gasped the words that he wanted to hear, widening my stance to allow his fingers better access.

Tom murmured his approval. “I want these off,” he said, tugging on the satin. “You can take off the shoes, but I want the stockings left on. Do it.” He released me, and I stumbled back, landing gracelessly on the bed. He watched me hungrily as I unfastened the suspender clips, removed the panties, and refastened the clips. I stood back up, uncertain what he wanted me to do next.

“Kneel on the bed, at the edge, facing me.” The command was quiet, almost kind. He stood in front of me, caressed my face, and kissed me tenderly. He continued, his hands roaming over my body, inflaming me as his kisses grew more ardent. When I was breathing hard, he murmured, “Take off my shirt,” between kisses.

With shaking hands I made short work of the remaining buttons and pushed the shirt off his shoulders. His chest, shoulders, and arms were nicely toned without being overly muscular, and his body hair was sparse. I ran my hands over his skin, experimentally brushing over his nipples. I was rewarded with a moan and even more passionate kisses. Tom took his hands off me only long enough to remove the shirt completely, returning to slide one hand between my legs. When I gasped and threw my head back, he laughed again.

“Yes, I know what you want. Patience, darling, patience.” He withdrew his hand, and, keeping eye contact, deliberately licked his fingers. "Mmmm," he said with a grin. "I think I’ve found my new favourite flavour." Stepping back out of reach, he undid his trousers, pushing them down and kicking them away.

“Boxers?” I said with a smile. “I would never have guessed.”

Without responding to my comment, Tom slid them off his slim hips and let them fall to the floor, giving me my first look at him completely nude. There were those runner’s legs, the muscles well defined under the skin. His hips made my fingers itch to grab on to them. His cock stood proud and strong, the foreskin straining. As I watched, the light caught a drop of fluid forming at the tip. I got a better look at his trim waist, flat stomach, toned chest, and muscular shoulders on the way up to meet his eyes again. He was watching me, waiting for me to finish ogling his body.

"Does my body meet with your approval?" he asked in a tone that told me he could read the answer in my face and my flushed skin, in my erect nipples and the way I leaned towards him.

"You’re gorgeous, Tom. Get over here.”

His expression turned rueful, a parent correcting an unruly child. “Now Caro, I thought I’d made this clear.” Suddenly he had crossed the distance between us. He was around me, on me, his hands under my arse, lifting me and toppling me backwards onto the bed, landing on top of me. His face loomed over mine. “I am in control. You will not tell me what to do. Do you understand, Caro?”

My mind reeled. Some small part of my mind screamed at me to fight, to lash out, to run. That part was resoundingly overruled by the part of me that wanted to surrender to this man, to allow him to do anything he wanted with me. “Yes, Tom,” I breathed.

He smiled then, that predatory grin that made me shiver in anticipation. “That’s better,” he told me. “Now, before we go any farther, where do you keep condoms? I don’t want to be searching for them when I need one.”

“The bedside table,” I answered. “The drawer.”

He nodded. “Well then,” he said softly, brushing a curl off my forehead with one finger. “Now I’m going to bury my face between your thighs and make you dance on the tip of my tongue.”

This pronouncement so aroused and shocked me that I was confused when he planted his knees to either side of me and dragged me up to a sitting position. He flopped down next to me on his back, his knees bent over the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. He grabbed my thigh and tugged. “Come on now. Or don’t you want to suck my cock while I pleasure you?”

I suddenly realized where he wanted me to be. I couldn’t ever remember sixty-nining a new partner as our first sex act together, but then I’d never had phone sex with a man I’d just met, either. Tom was shattering all my usual expectations, but I couldn’t think of any reason to object.

As I straddled Tom’s face, he licked me once, from clit to slit. I cried out from the contact, and I felt him smile. His arms circled my thighs so his hands could grip my inner thighs from behind, and he unclipped the stockings and pushed them down to give himself full access to my skin. He held me quite firmly against his mouth, his tongue exploring idly, testing my reactions. I could wiggle, but only slightly.

I forced myself to turn my attention to his cock, which strained toward me as if it could sense my mouth coming closer. It had been so long since I’d given head that I was worried I’d gag if I went too fast. He was quite a bit larger than average, though not the largest I’d ever encountered. _Tall thin men have the best-kept secrets,_ I thought with a smile as I slid his foreskin all the way back. I swirled my tongue around the head, and felt Tom’s moan between my legs. His tongue began to move faster, concentrating mostly on my clit, but teasing me by leaving it to explore, sometimes probing inside of me, sometimes turning his head to kiss and nibble my inner thighs.

As I took more of his length into my mouth, I felt him press two fingers into me. I tightened my muscles around him, welcoming him in and showing him what I could do. I got a delighted, knowing laugh in response that turned into a groan as the tip of his cock contacted the back of my throat. I was giving as good as I got, I thought.

I now discovered the reason behind Tom’s seemingly odd choice of position: with his feet on the floor, he had enough leverage to rock his hips up, letting him fuck my mouth even though I was on top. I had just enough control of my body position to keep from being choked by the rhythmic pounding of his cock into my throat, but Tom was definitely in more control in this position than I had realized. My hips were still pinned to his face, his fingers impaling me in time with his hips’ thrusting. We were both moaning incoherently, our mouths fully occupied in giving pleasure to each other. Tom’s tongue was firmly applied to my clit now, with firm pressure and the speed of a vibrator. I felt my climax approaching quickly, and struggled not to lose the rhythm Tom set with his hips, not wanting to gag. When I came, I couldn’t help but lose the rhythm, and I threw my head back, letting his cock fall back to slap his body. I called out his name, gasping for breath, until the orgasm subsided and my arms collapsed, leaving me lying with my face on his thigh, chest heaving.

Tom continued to kiss my inner thighs, his grip unchanged, his fingers still inside me. His cock twitched in front of my face, and I grinned. “Yes, Tom,” I said with a laugh before picking up where I’d left off. Now that his mouth was free, he was quite vocal, directing me to go faster, or deeper, or swirl my tongue around the head, rewarding me with praise. As he drew close to orgasm again, he turned his head and sucked on my inner thigh as he pistoned his hips off the bed over and over again. When he came, pulsing into my mouth, he suddenly sucked harder, causing my eyes to widen with the small, sharp pain. _He marked me,_ I thought as he kissed the spot softly, his body relaxing but his grip on me still firm.

“Very good,” he said. “Now that my head’s a bit clearer, we can really get down to business.”

“I…I’m sorry?” I couldn’t sort out what he meant, why he hadn’t relaxed his grip on my thighs.

His knowing laugh came again from between my legs. “I told you, Caro. Tonight I’m going to make you surrender.”

With that, he reapplied his mouth to the task of driving me wild. Enough time had passed since my orgasm that I was quite sensitive again, and without the distraction of trying to give him pleasure, I was attuned to every lick, every touch. He managed to curl three fingers inside me now, and his thumb played over my perineum as his tongue danced over my clit. That would have been enough of a sensory overload, but being restrained added an additional layer of arousal. I could move my upper body, though I was limited by my hip position. I clutched at Tom’s hips and thighs, enjoying the feel of his firm muscles under my hands.

The second orgasm hit me suddenly and without warning. I shouted, at first wordlessly and then Tom’s name, over and over as he continued on, licking and sucking and finger-fucking me as if I hadn’t come yet. I tried to break away, but was held fast. “Tom! God, Tom! What are you doing? Tom! Fuck!” My litany of pleas, questions, and profanity was ignored. I stayed in a state of near-climax for what felt like forever, until somehow, incredibly, my body managed to produce one more orgasm. It was the most exquisite thing I’d ever felt, a white light erasing everything and leaving only pleasure behind. I had no idea what my body was doing or what sounds I was making. There was only the pleasure, and the explosion of light in my head.

When I came back to reason, I realised that my suspender belt and stockings were gone. I was lying on my back, staring up at Tom. He was sitting by my left hip and stroking my hair. “That was perfect, Caro,” he said, as he must have seen intelligence creep back into my eyes. He tore open a condom packet and, rising up on his knees, rolled the latex onto his again erect length. “First, you gasped. Then, you screamed. Finally, you whimpered. Bonus points for fainting, my darling. Yes, I do think we’re going to get on quite well.”

With that, he lifted my left leg high and positioned himself to enter me. “Time for round two,” he said, and slid his cock in all at once, increasing the stretch on my leg as he leaned forward, planting the rest of his weight on his left forearm. I arched in response, barely in control of my body, my mind clouded with endorphins. I felt like I’d run a marathon, and yet there was more. His hips slammed into me, relentless, driving his cock in harder and harder, hitting bottom with every thrust. I wrapped my right leg around his waist and with my arms held on tight, my nails digging into his back. His lips played over my face and my throat before settling by one ear, and he kept up a litany of praise for my body, my performance, my compliance.

“Such a good girl, Caro. I knew you’d feel so right. Your mouth is exquisite; your cunt is like heaven. Oh, Caro, just like that, yes.”

When he settled my left leg on his shoulder and slid his hand down to rub my clit, I went off like a rocket, screaming and clutching at his back, the bedclothes, his hair while he laughed at me in delight, still fucking me at a punishing pace. When my orgasm subsided and I went practically limp, he lowered my leg, wrapping it around his waist like the other, and switched to a rhythm that was a little slower but deeper and more deliberate.

“Open your eyes, Caro. Watch what you do to me.” I managed to get my eyes to flutter open, and cursed myself for letting them close in the first place. Tom’s face was magnificent: practically glowing with pleasure, his eyes on fire, and all of his attention on me. I stroked a thumb across one cheekbone and along his jawline.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered.

“You’re mine,” he answered as his face grew solemn, intense.

“Yes, Tom,” I said, since it I knew it was what he wanted to hear.

At that, his hips pressed into me, hard, as though he could drive his cock any deeper into me, and his breath caught. His mouth fell open, but his eyes stayed locked on mine.

“Mine…Caro,” he gasped as his body shuddered and his eyes rolled up in his head. I could feel his cock inside me, the rhythmic pulse as he came.

“Yes,” I repeated. “Yours.”


	6. Realisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: I don't want to be giving too much away, but this chapter contains some initially non-consensual activity. If you haven't figured it out by now, this is a dom/sub relationship. If that triggers you, you might want to jump ship, if not now, then soon. It's only going to get heavier from here on out. That said, if you enjoy wallowing in my cesspool of an imagination, you're incredibly welcome.

I awoke in darkness, disoriented until my eyes found the numbers of my alarm clock glowing “5:52.” All at once I remembered the entire evening: dinner, Tom’s transformation, the amazing, mind-blowing sex. He had held me in his arms afterwards, kissing my face and murmuring endearments as I drifted off to sleep. Now he lay beside me in bed, breathing evenly as he slept with one hand resting on my thigh.

I slid carefully out of bed, placing his hand in the warmth that I left behind, and padded silently to the loo. Thankful for the dimmer switch, I turned the light on low. One glance in the mirror made me thankful I had woken early: my makeup was ruined, my hair a disaster. I didn’t expect to look perfect after being shagged through the mattress and catching some sleep, but I couldn’t let Tom see me in this much disarray.

It was only after having a pee that I noticed the love bite on my inner thigh and suddenly remembered how Tom sucked on the skin there as he came in my mouth. I was grateful it wasn’t anywhere hard to conceal in normal clothing, though I swam four or five days a week, and it would be noticeable then. I intuitively knew that if I complained about being marked, Tom would laugh at best and possibly even be angry that I rejected his visible claim on me.

After tidying myself up, I tiptoed back to bed, sliding between the sheets and snuggling up to Tom’s side as he lay on his back, his arms thrown over his head. There was still an hour before my alarm would sound, and the dawn light was just starting to creep around the edges of the blinds. Breathing in his smell, I couldn’t resist touching him. As I ran my hand up one muscular arm, I suddenly remembered the black scarves I had hidden, tied to the bedposts and tucked behind the mattress. Moving slowly, I rose to my knees and fished the scarf end from the corner on Tom’s side of the bed. _Turnabout is fair play,_ I thought. _And it’s my turn to play._ I knew that restraining a sleeping man was perhaps going a bit overboard, but with Tom all the rules I had ever known seemed to be irrelevant.

I had tied the scarves so that a sliding loop would tighten around the wearer’s wrists, and pulling would only make them tighter. I stared at the scarves and at Tom for a moment longer, and my eyes travelled down his sleeping form in the dim light, arrested by the tented sheet over his groin. He was close enough to waking that he had morning wood, so it seemed I had to decide to restrain him now or hide the scarves away again.

Taking the plunge, I carefully slipped the looped silk around each of his wrists and gently tightened them. Tom stirred slightly but still didn’t waken. I peeled the sheet back and slid down his body to kiss the soft skin just above his navel. I avoided touching his cock, moulding my body to the length of his leg.

He woke, blinked, and tried to stretch, freezing as he discovered his hands were bound.

“Caro?” A flash of anger transformed his face as his entire body tensed and his hands balled into fists, tugging on the silk ties, trying to pull them loose from the bedposts.

I stroked his sides, kissed his hip, and wound my legs around his. “I want to show you how good you made me feel last night. I can’t push your limits without restraining you, since you’re stronger than me.”

He looked up at the headboard, hiding his face from me, and took a deep, deep breath. I could see him consciously relaxing his muscles, from his head downward. Once he had completely relaxed, he lowered his head and gave me a small smile.

“All right,” he said softly. “I’m willing to try it, for you.”

I beamed back at him. “Good,” I said in a low voice as I rose to my knees. “I didn’t get much chance to explore you last night.” I leant down to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to memorise your skin with my tongue.” His cock twitched as a sound of anticipation escaped his lips.

I started kissing, licking, and nibbling his throat, one hand exploring his chest, keeping my strokes random, and occasionally brushing a nipple. He relaxed into my attentions, moaning and sighing, eyes closed. I peppered his face with tiny kisses, but avoided his lips as they tried to capture mine, keeping just out of reach. I laughed at the faces he made, and he smiled.

Continuing down his body, I traced his collarbones with my tongue, thoroughly investigating the hollow at the base of his throat. My breasts brushed his chest, and he arched to meet my body, to increase the contact. I could feel his heart beating against me, its rapid pace an accompaniment to his heavy breathing and his sounds of pleasure. As I moved to kiss his chest and tease his firm nipples with my tongue, I saw that his whole body was flushed with arousal. The high colour accentuated his sharp cheekbones and made the rest of his body glow in the dawn light.

“You’re so beautiful,” I breathed as I caressed his well-toned body, sliding ever lower, tracing the faint trail down his lower abdomen. He drew in a sharp breath, bracing himself for what I knew he hoped would come next. I continued to neglect his cock as it bounced with the motion of his hips, impatient for contact. I took my time exploring the angles of his hips, sliding my hands under him and getting a satisfying double-handful of his arse.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I told him, whilst continuing to paint designs on his hipbones with my tongue. “But I really appreciate a fine arse on a man. I won’t be able to keep my hands off yours.” I punctuated this with a squeeze that made him jump and give a whoop of surprise. I laughed again, and he groaned as I returned to my mission to taste every inch of his skin.

Reluctantly abandoning his arse, I applied myself to inspecting his muscular legs. I loved the feel of hard muscle just under soft skin; he had practically no fat layer at all. After kissing and tasting my way down one leg and back up the other, I arrived back where I had started. Still carefully avoiding touching his cock, I flattened myself out between Tom’s legs and began nuzzling his balls, flicking my tongue out to tease the soft skin behind them.

“Oh, God!” he called out. “Caro, please!” I smiled and continued without answering.

“Caro! Darling! I want to touch you. I need to touch you. Please. Please. Come back up here, kiss me. Please, Caro, please.”

He sounded so tortured, so sincere, that I relented. Sliding up his body, finally giving his cock some contact, I lay down on top of him and met his eager lips with mine.

“This is lovely, Caro, but I want to touch you, hold you in my arms. Please, darling. I promise I’ll be good.” He presented his case for release, interspersed with sweet kisses. “Please, untie me now.”

I didn’t have it in me to refuse him; I expected that if I ever asked for him to stop so directly, he would.

I had to kneel next to him to loosen his silken bonds, and he lay there placidly as I freed his wrists. He sat up, rubbing them. “Thank you,” he said, rising to his knees and turning, I thought, to kiss me.

I didn’t anticipate his next move at all. Instead of kissing me, he shoved me forward, planting my face in the pillow where his head had lain. Before I could even cry out, he had my left wrist restrained and was fumbling with the other, his knee exerting light pressure on the small of my back. I spluttered in confusion, my struggle to rise and pull my arm away laughable against his strength and his position.

He clicked his tongue, chastising me again. “Caro, Caro, Caro,” he taunted. “You haven’t figured it out yet. You think you’re a dom, darling, but you’re not. You crave subjugation. You love it.” He got the knot holding my right wrist sorted out. “I could tell when we met, in the way that you held yourself, the way that you moved. You wanted me to pursue you, to conquer you.” I remained silent, trying to catch my breath. “Tell me the truth: have you ever felt as good as I made you feel last night?”

The answer shamed me, but I told him the truth. “No,” I whispered, my face turned away from him, my eyes closed.

“Do you want me to set you free? I will, but I’ll leave, and I won’t come back. I’ve never wanted to possess anyone the way I want to possess you.” His hand caressed its way from one of the silken ties, down my arm and side, coming to rest with a light touch on my hipbone. “But this is how I want you. This is the only way it can be.”

I couldn’t answer with a “yes” or “no” because I was afraid that he’d misunderstand me, and then it would be too late. It was a shock to admit it to myself, but he was right: I was excited by giving up control. My former lovers had all been such ‘enlightened’ men that any dom/sub play had been exactly that – play. I wanted this, I wanted him, but the rules were all different. To please him, I would have to convince him that I finally understood.

“Teach me, Tom,” I answered. “I want to be yours. Please.” Tied to the bed, my face in the pillow and my arse in the air, I doubted it was possible for me to look more subservient.

I heard the smile in his response: “We are going to make each other so happy.” I felt his weight shift away from me and heard the bedside drawer open. “When do you have to start getting ready for work, darling? I wouldn’t want to make you late.” His tone was conversational as I heard him rip open a condom and put it on.

“Seven,” I answered meekly.

“Then we’ve got more than twenty minutes, fantastic,” he said, as he came to kneel between my legs. “A little higher,” he instructed, lifting my hips with one hand. “I expect that you’re nice and wet after teasing me like that, but I’ll just check, shall I?” One long finger entered me, pulled back, and became two on the next probing thrust. I moaned and pressed back against his hand. “Yes, I thought as much. You’re more turned on by this than you were by tying me up, do you see?”

“Yes,” I gasped, my eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.

“Yes, what?” he said patiently.

“Yes, Tom!” His name became a shout as he entered me all at once, his hips smacking against my arse.

He held still there, his cock buried completely inside me. “Good girl,” he purred. I tightened my muscles around him, and he moaned, “Oh, God, yes,” as he began to move.

Again, Tom was vocal, telling me how good it felt, how beautiful I was, that I was his. Such dirty words, sounding so refined in his high-class accent. “Are you mine, Caro? Tell me you’re mine while I’m fucking you.”

“Yours, Tom. I’m yours. All yours.” My answers took on the rhythm of his hips, as though the words were propelled from my lips by the slamming of his body into mine.

He responded to this by leaning forward and placing his weight on his left arm, freeing his right to wrap around my hip and rub my clit. I gasped at the contact, pleasing him. “Yes, that’s it,” he crooned in my ear. “Come for me darling. Let me feel you fall apart.”

With his clever fingers on my clit and his breath in my ear, his cock thrusting deep inside me, it was no wonder that I came quickly, a sharp, short orgasm that left me gasping as Tom straightened up again, grasped my hips firmly, and continued fucking me, even faster than before. I could feel his balls slap against me with every thrust, and he dug his thumbs into my arse so hard, I was sure I would have bruises.

“Can you take it, Caro? Do you want more?” His voice was strained, breathless.

“Yes, Tom! More, please!” I called out in time with his thrusts.

With a sound between a growl and a roar, Tom doubled his pace, sacrificing a little depth but still smacking his hips against me with every stroke. I heard a long, inarticulate noise that was almost a whine; I realized it was coming from me.

Tom had also lost the power of speech, low groans, building in volume, was all I heard from him now. I knew he couldn’t last much longer, and I squeezed down again, gripping his cock with my cunt as hard as I could manage. The groan became a shout, and with a few more quick thrusts, he came, gasping for air, and collapsed on top of me.

The alarm went off.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed, as Tom chuckled in my ear and said, “Made it.” He reached back and held the condom as he slipped out of me and moved away. Slapping my alarm clock, he stood.

“What time do you need to leave the flat?” he asked, heading for the hall.

“Seven forty-five,” I said. “Where are you going?” I tried to keep him in view, which was difficult as I was still tied to the bedposts.

He returned to the side of the bed and crouched down, putting his face at my level. “You still need to be punished for tying me up, darling. Just a little. Don’t worry: I’ll make sure you get to work on time.” With that, he patted my shoulder, stood up, and walked away. 

I lay there, listening to the sound of the shower running. What had I gotten myself into? How much of this was a game? How crazy was he, really? Why didn’t I care?

Less than ten minutes later, Tom returned, his hair damp, a towel slung around his hips. “I’ll leave my toothbrush here, shall I?” he asked as he untied me. I nodded, still mute, and he wrapped his arms around me as I knelt on the bed.

“You’re not cross with me, darling, are you? It’s all just part of our little game.”

I mustered up a smile. “Of course not. How could I be mad at you?”

“That’s my girl,” he answered, kissing my cheek. “Best hurry, don’t want to be late.”

I trundled out to the kitchen and started the coffee while Tom got dressed in his clothes from the night before. When he entered the kitchen, I gave him a quick tour of the breakfast options, and found myself apologising for not having left enough time to make eggs.

“Don’t worry about it. The naked hostess more than makes up for the lack of a hot breakfast.”

“Just one more service we offer,” I returned over my shoulder as I left the kitchen, leaving Tom laughing behind me.

I got ready for work in record time, mostly by moving on autopilot as my mind raced. I was still trying to process the situation. I couldn’t decide whether Tom’s need to dominate me was a scary character flaw or simply a sexual kink. Was his mild-mannered persona an act? Or were both of these traits just facets of a normal psyche? Most importantly, would the answer change my willingness to give myself to him?

I was starting to realise that it wouldn’t. I was willing to step to the edge of the cliff, so long as he stood there with me, holding my hand. I had only known him for two days, but he made me feel more alive than I ever had before. I couldn’t walk away, despite knowing there was a chance he could be dangerous. And who was I to judge? I had tied him down against his will. And my ‘punishment’ was an amazing fuck and a little ‘time-out.’ He hadn’t shouted, or hit me, or called me names. I resolved to stop overanalysing and follow his lead.

Making the decision felt so liberating that I knew it was right. I had only one question that I needed to get answered: He insisted I was his. Was he mine?

When I came back to the kitchen, Tom was munching on some toast, a mug of black coffee on the table before him. He had slung his suit jacket on the back of a chair, and his shirtsleeves were rolled back, his tie loose. He was reading yesterday’s paper, as I wouldn’t pick up today’s until I left for work. He looked unbelievably good and somehow right, treating a bespoke suit like casual wear in my kitchen. He looked up from the paper and smiled when I entered the room, and it was like the sun rising.

Folding the paper, he rose and poured me a coffee, letting me add milk and sugar myself. “I should have asked you what you wanted; I could have had your breakfast waiting,” he said apologetically. I goggled at him, not expecting this sort of solicitousness from the man who had just left me tied up while he took a shower. _Maybe it’s only the sex that he needs to control,_ I thought. _The rest of the time, he really is the nice guy that everyone sees._

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’m not a big breakfast eater, anyway.” I transferred my coffee to a travel cup and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter. “I need to go. Leave the dishes. I’ll do them later.”

Grabbing his jacket, Tom followed me out the door. As we waited for the lift, he said, “I’m not sure yet whether I’m free this evening. I’m trying to reschedule a meeting for earlier in the day. If I can, are you free?” The lift arrived, empty.

“No plans. If you’re busy, I’ll do some design work, and maybe wash the sheets again.” I smirked, cocking an eyebrow.

He gave me a cheeky grin. “We haven’t sullied my sheets yet,” he said as the lift opened onto the lobby.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I said. “Just say the word.”

“That’s the spirit,” he told me with a wink. Once we were outside, he turned to me, serious. “Good luck with Liam today. I hope what he has to say doesn’t upset you.”

I covered my eyes with one hand. “Oh, my God, I forgot all about that. Shit. That’s today.” I smiled tentatively. “Fucking Mondays.”

Tom was laughing at me. “Darling, if I made you forget that you’re meeting with your old lover today, then I’m doing something right.”

“You certainly are,” I said. “Especially because he’s not just an ‘old lover.’ He’s my ex-husband.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up as his smile vanished. “Really?” he said incredulously. “How remarkable.” He stepped forward and hugged me, planting a chaste kiss on my lips as we parted. “I’ll let you know as soon as I do whether I can see you tonight. Best of luck.”

His taxi passed me as I walked down the block, and he blew a last kiss out the window. As I walked along, it dawned on me that I hadn’t cleared up that one nagging point: Did Tom belong to me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters will contain...character and plot development. Don't know about you, but I like a little story in my porn. I hope you'll stick with me. There's a lot more excitement to follow.


	7. Many Questions, Few Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caro's dreaded meeting with Liam, and a well-timed flower delivery.

Although I normally dreaded it, I was glad that my duties were administrative today. I was so distracted that I feared I would make a mistake if I had to provide patient care. At least thoughts of Tom prevented me from worrying too much about why Liam wanted to see me. I struggled to put both men out of my mind while I ground through some mind-numbing paperwork.

I managed to clear a good portion of my in-box and answer the most important emails by 11:45. Telling Julie, who was my office assistant as well as my best friend, where I was going, and that I was expecting someone for a lunch meeting, I popped down to the loo to freshen up. I didn’t feel any need to impress Liam, but I didn’t want to look dishevelled, either.

I recalled that Liam always aimed to be ten minutes early for any appointment. Returning to the office, I found that he was still as reliable as ever. He waited in the outer office, a paper bag in his hands that betrayed its contents by their smell. He had brought Indian food. We’d been a couple for six years; he hadn’t needed to ask what he should bring for lunch.

I introduced Liam to Julie as “Dr Hendricks,” and showed him in to my office, shutting the door. We covered the initial few minutes of awkwardness with unpacking the food. He had gotten my favourites, prawn biryani and hot chai. He settled into my visitor’s chair with his chicken curry, and finally spoke.

“I’m really sorry that I didn’t tell you I was coming to London in advance, Caro. I didn’t know you’d be at the event the other night. I mean, you hate that sort of thing. Keith didn’t tell me that you were getting an award, and that he’d pestered you into coming. He didn’t know…about us.” 

Liam had had a day and two nights to plan what he would say to me, and he was still blundering about. I let him flounder as I ate my lunch. The banana I’d eaten on the walk to work hadn’t even begun to make up for the energy I’d burned since dinner last night. I was ravenous, and the biryani was excellent.

“I just had…some questions. About what happened…to Amelia.” This last word was quiet, almost whispered, as he looked away.

“Ask away,” I said, knowing I was being difficult. “It’s been three years. By all means, go ahead.”

He sighed. “Can’t you just start at the beginning? Do I have to cross-examine you?”

I frowned. “I don’t want to tell you the whole story. First, I just don’t have the time. Second, you weren’t there to share it with me then, and I don’t feel the need to share it with you now.”

“That’s not fair!” he was starting to get angry. “I didn’t know where you were! I didn’t know anything was happening until it was over. And I was still your husband. Someone should have called me. You should have called me, when you could. But no, all I got was a birth certificate and a death certificate, in the same envelope.”

“Keep your voice down!” I hissed. “Do you think I’ve told anyone about it? I’ve told no one! No one! My own mother doesn’t know, so will you please stop shouting!”

Liam took a deep breath in, held it (I knew he was counting to ten), and let it slowly back out his nose. “Okay,” he said in a more reasonable tone. “I just came to find out what really happened to my—to our daughter.”

“Now she’s ‘our daughter,’ huh?” I couldn’t keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice, I was so angry. “I’ll tell you what happened: she died. There’s nothing more to tell.”

He glared at me, but he knew me, and saw that I wasn’t going to change my mind. I realised there was something I wanted to tell him, since he was here anyway.

“I do want to apologise for one thing, though,” I said. He looked puzzled.

“I always thought you were waiting for me to apologise to you,” he said.

“I was, until I realised that I was the one who acted out-of-character, not you. I never saw it coming. I got pregnant, and it changed everything. I can’t blame you for staying the same person while I changed into someone else. If I learned anything, it’s that I can’t predict what decision I’d make in a crisis, because I really won’t have a clue until the crisis is real.” As I spoke, Tom’s face popped into my mind’s eye, unbidden. I supposed that my personal epiphanies of the past two days were another example of how I hadn’t known myself, after all. “So I’m sorry that I blamed you for not standing by me. Once I’d made my decision, you really didn’t have a choice.”

Liam stared at me with his mouth open, blinking. After a moment, he nodded. “Apology accepted. In return, I’ll apologise for coming here and opening old wounds. You’re right, the details don’t really make a difference. I’ve just always wondered…but never mind. I’ll go now; I won’t bother you again.”

I thanked him, both for the sentiment and for lunch, and walked with him back to the outer office. As soon as I opened my office door, I was greeted by the scent of roses. A vase with what must have been two dozen roses sat on Julie’s desk.

“What did Jim do to warrant sending you those, Julie?” I joked. “Run over the cat?”

She grinned. “They’re not from Jim. They’re for you.” She waved the card at me. “I’ve been dying for you to come out and open this. You didn’t tell me you got a new boyfriend!”

I blushed, amazed that I was embarrassed, but there I stood between my ex-husband and my best friend, remembering what Tom had done to me this morning. I covered my discomfort by reaching for the card.

“I haven’t had the chance!” I rolled my eyes towards Liam, who hovered in the doorway, curious.

“Do you need me to walk you out, Dr Hendricks?” Julie asked brightly. “I know the hospital can be a bit of a maze.”

“Oh, no,” he answered, shrugging on his jacket. “I can find my way out. Thanks.” He looked at me. “Take care of yourself, Caro. It was good to see that you’re well.” Before I could answer, he was gone.

“Spill it!” Julie was practically bouncing up and down in her chair. “Who are the roses from? Who’s this Dr Hendricks? He’s pretty cute. How do you know him? Come on, Caro, I’m dying here!”

Normally I told Julie everything of interest that went on in my life. If I so much as thought a handsome man flirted with me at the grocers’, Julie heard it. I knew that while I was comfortable with the decision I had made to let Tom call the shots, Julie might think it was strange, maybe even wrong. It seemed so far from something I would have thought I would choose, and I didn’t think I could explain to Julie what I barely understood myself.

She also didn’t know the full story behind my divorce; no one did. I had told Julie the same thing I had told anyone else who knew me well enough to be entrusted with the knowledge that I had even been married at all: that Liam and I had divorced due to ‘irreconcilable differences.’ It was certainly true, as far as it went.

I decided that a few pieces of information she didn’t already know would be enough to appease her. “Dr Hendricks is my ex-husband,” I told her calmly, popping a mint from her candy dish into my mouth.

Her jaw dropped open. “That was Liam? Why didn’t you tell me that before he came in?” she said incredulously. “I would have taken a much better look at him. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“I didn’t want you to treat him any differently than you’d treat anyone else,” I told her. “Does it really matter?” I was still holding the unopened card, and it felt like a lead weight in my hand. I knew the flowers must be from Tom, but were they an apology for not being able to see me tonight? I wondered what his ‘meeting’ was that he was trying to reschedule. Did he have a date with someone else?

“Are you going to open that card, or do I have to wrestle you for it?” Julie grinned. “Don’t you want to open it? Do you know who it’s from?”

“Yeah, there’s this guy Tom,” I said casually, slipping my thumbnail under the flap of the tiny envelope. “I just met him at the charity dinner.”

“Oh, is he a doctor?” Julie asked as I slid the card out of the envelope. It was a simple rectangle of white card stock, embossed around the edge. Handwritten in blue ink was

**7 pm, dinner, dressy. I’ll pick you up. Pack a bag. –Tom**

I grinned before I could stop myself, and Julie tried to get a look at the card in my hand, but I palmed it and stuck it in back of my ID tag.

“No, he’s not a doctor,” I said as I picked up the heavy vase with both hands. From behind the flowers, I said, “He’s an actor.”

Julie frowned. “Is he famous, then? I don’t remember a ‘Tom’ on the guest list.” 

I was glad I’d checked out IMDB. “Well, he’s in _Wallander,_ and he’s done a couple of films, and some theatre. He’s playing Loki in Thor. That comes out next month.”

She shrugged. “I guess I’ve never seen him then. Not much of a _Wallander_ fan. So, what’s he like?”

I was glad I could hide behind the flowers, since I had no idea what she’d be able to read on my face. “Um, he’s handsome, and funny, and _tall,”_ I offered.

It wasn’t enough. “Oh, come on,” she said. “You have to give me a bit more than that.”

“Well, he’s intelligent, and well-read, and…he keeps surprising me.”

“Surprising you? What do you mean by that?” She looked puzzled.

“I don’t know,” I lied. “He just does things I don’t really expect him to do. Like send me two dozen roses after our second date.”

“So,” she wheedled, and I knew from her tone what was coming next. “Has he kissed you? Come on, spill it.”

I stopped at the door to my office. “Yes, and he’s a fantastic kisser. And that’s all you’re getting. Got it?” With a wink, I shut the door with my foot.


	8. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caro explains some things about her past to Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE THERE BE DRAGONS: I cannot stress enough that this chapter contains ANGST: descriptions of grievous bodily injury, death, and sorrow. Curiosity can kill the cat; do not read this chapter after my warnings and then complain about how awful it made you feel (unless it's a complement to my writing, natch).
> 
> Some may wonder what such serious themes are doing in a porny fan-fic. As a writer, I do not believe that all fan-fic needs to be fluff. See "Alone on the Water," and, if I may, my own "Socks for Benedict." I try to write a good story that happens to be explicit, not a sex scene with a little window dressing.
> 
> I hope I don't lose too many of you as I continue Caro and Tom's descent into...well, you'll have to come along and see, won't you?

Tom had hired a car rather than take a taxi, so I was able leave my overnight bag in the limo while we had dinner at a lovely little Italian restaurant. Tom kept the conversation light, deflecting any attempts I made to bring up what had happened between us that morning or my meeting with Liam. Deciding he was probably right to avoid any serious conversation in public, I didn’t press the issue.

Once we were safely in the back seat of the hired car, Tom was affectionate, but still not ready to talk. He kept my mouth occupied with kisses on the ride to his house. By the time we got there, my body was pleasantly tingling with arousal, but I wasn’t ready to give up on the idea of a bit of serious discussion.

Tom’s house had a modest three bedrooms, still quite a lot of space for a single man, especially one who travelled often. His furnishings were tasteful, with the occasional whimsical detail: a framed Eton rugby shirt, a poster of Miss Piggy signed by Frank Oz, and was that really Mjolnir? Tom left me in the living room while he took my bag into his bedroom, returning to turn on some soft music and offer me a drink.

Once he was done playing the host, we snuggled together on the couch for a while in companionable silence. I was amazed that I felt so comfortable with him, given that we had known each other only a couple of days, and that morning I had been debating whether he could be physically dangerous. I decided I had to try broaching one of the subjects on my mind.

“I’m glad you were able to reschedule your meeting. What sort of meetings do you have in the evening?”

He laughed at how transparent my question was. “I usually meet with my agent over dinner. My agent is a man, by the way, in case you were wondering. I didn’t have a date, Caro. You don’t have to worry about that.” He put a finger under my chin and made me look at him. “Just as you are mine, I am yours. Understand?”

I nodded, smiling, and he kissed me tenderly, his hand on my cheek.

“So, will you tell me why Liam came to see you?”

I sighed. “Yes, but it won’t make any sense to you without the history, and that’s long.” I picked up my drink. “I’ve never told anyone the whole story.” I met his eyes again, trying to impart how serious I was. “Nobody. Not Liam, not my mother, not my best friend. They all know pieces, but not everything.”

Tom studied me. “If you’re not comfortable enough with me to tell me yet, then don’t. We have all the time in the world. How about I tell you more about myself first?” He continued at my nod. “There aren’t any great scandals; just the teenage angst of a boy at boarding school while his parents were divorcing, the usual round of public school hijinks, and a few failed relationships. But I tell you anything you want to know, if it will help you trust me.”

I thought about that. I knew, of course, that I’d never be able to verify much of what he told me, and he was an actor: he could easily deliver a convincing monologue that wasn’t true in the slightest detail. But I instinctively trusted him, and so far in life, my estimation of people had been excellent. Well, except for the cipher I was to myself.

“I’d love to know more about you,” I said. “I probably know less about you than your fans.”

He grinned at that. “You’re probably right.”

Thirty minutes later, Tom finished telling me the condensed version of his biography: his childhood, his family, his parents’ divorce and its effect on him. He told me how he got into acting, about his past girlfriends, and how his increasing success was coupled with an increasing desire to share it with someone. He told me how thrilled he was to find that I had no idea who he was, since it was getting harder for him to meet a woman who didn’t have preconceived notions about him. He left me with the impression that he was hoping our relationship lasted, which filled me with hope and joy at the same time that I felt trepidation at revealing my tale. In my own opinion, I didn’t come out looking terribly stable as the story unfolded, but it was this odd series of events that led to where and who I was today.

After refreshing our drinks, Tom sat back down and proposed a toast. “To getting to know each other much, much better,” he said, clinking our glasses together. I agreed and drank. Then I set the glass down and took a deep breath.

“My turn, I guess,” I said nervously.

“Only if you’re ready,” he said patiently.

“I’ll never be ready,” I said sadly. “But I’ll do it anyway.” I stood up and started to pace the room as I talked.

“When Liam and I got married, we wanted the same things, which was wonderful and strange, since what we wanted wasn’t the usual American Dream. We wanted to travel, two itinerant doctors who would never know what the next month would bring: a mission trip to Zaire? Covering a maternity leave in Tokyo? Providing medical services for the Tour de France? We did all that, and more. And key to that lifestyle was the agreement that we wouldn’t have children. And that was fine.”

I stopped then, a bookshelf in front of me, a photograph of a boy of three just at my eye level. “Who’s this?” I asked. “He’s adorable.”

“That’s my godson,” he answered. “And yes, he is.”

I turned around, and he was smiling, obviously as proud as if the boy’s looks had something to do with him.

Turning back to the bookshelf, I continued. “Anyway, you’d think that having made that decision, we would have done something permanent about it, but Liam never wanted to take off from work to have a vasectomy and sit around miserable for a week. He was never sick, never wanted to be idle. So we stuck with ‘The Pill.’ I was compulsive about it, but I guess it wasn’t enough, and biology won out. I got pregnant.” I finally looked up, and I had Tom’s full attention by the way he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. He nodded for me to go on.

“Liam, unsurprisingly, saw it as a mistake, and assumed immediately that I would…get it fixed. Have an abortion.” I made myself say it. “And before I got pregnant, that’s what I would have assumed, too. It’s what I would have said I would do, if it ever happened. Only I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. And I didn’t care whether Liam wanted the baby or not. I didn’t have a plan, but I was ready to change everything.” I shook my head. “No, that’s not right. As soon as I got pregnant, everything changed. Nothing was as I thought it would be. I wasn’t who I thought I was.” I searched his face to see whether he understood what I was telling him, but I could read nothing.

“Liam was hurt, confused, angry. We shouted at each other, we cried, we didn’t speak for days. Our world had ended, and we were at an impasse. I pulled a few strings and got rehired somewhere I still had privileges, a hospital in Chicago. Two weeks after I told Liam I was pregnant, I moved out while he was at work. I just…left. There was no point in leaving a note; I’d said all I had to say. I told my friends and family that I was leaving him, but not why. They didn’t know I was pregnant.” I stopped and stared at Tom again. “They still don’t.”

“Oh, god,” he said. “This doesn’t end well, does it?”

“No,” I said simply. “It doesn’t.”

“Will you come sit by me? I think I want to hold you for this next part.”

Suddenly that seemed like the best idea I’d ever heard. I folded my legs under me on the couch and laid my head on Tom’s chest as he wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my hair. It was somehow easier to talk with him surrounding me, but not being able to see his face.

“I was staying not far from the hospital, and on my days off, I would run early in the morning before the sidewalks and the traffic got too bad. There wasn’t a park nearby, so I just ran from my place to the hospital, circled it, and came back, making it about two miles. It was a Monday morning, about seven. I was crossing with the light, and I had my music turned up, and…I don’t remember this part, for which I’m grateful. Evidently this teenage football player with a car full of his friends was speeding along, and he didn’t notice the light had turned red.” Tom’s sharp inhale told me he could guess what was coming. “The car hit three of us; the others died instantly. I was thrown into the side of a bus that was stopped in the intersection; if it hadn’t been there, I probably would have been run over. I hit my head, but luckily I didn’t break my neck.”

Tom pulled back enough to look at me, and then hugged me close again and rocked me. “This is really hard to hear, even though I know you’re all right,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can stop.”

“No!” he insisted. “I’m honoured you’re willing to tell me. I want to know.”

I nodded. “I had stupidly not brought any ID with me on my run, and my iPod was crushed. I was brought in as a ‘Jane Doe.’ No one who could have recognised me saw me, and I wasn’t due to work for three days. By the time I woke up and could tell them who I was, it was all over. You see, I was 5 months along, 21 weeks. I wasn’t showing all that much, because I was keeping in shape, but a witness said I hit the bus with the front of my body. I had what is called an abruption: the placenta separates from the womb, and the baby can’t get any oxygen. When the paramedics got there, they couldn’t figure out why there was so much blood. By the time the doctors stabilized me and figured out what was going on, the baby was dead.” I stopped, suddenly unable to continue, tears running down my face. I had never spoken this part of the story aloud before.

Tom’s arms tightened around me, and he resumed rocking me like he had before. He made shushing noises into my hair, and whispered, “It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re with me.” When I looked up, I saw that he was crying too. I reached up and caught a teardrop with one finger, just before it would have fallen from his cheek.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I said, kissing his cheeks to stop the tears from falling.

“Go on,” he said. “Tell me the rest.”

“Well,” I said, “I wasn’t far enough along for her to have a chance, even if she’d been born alive, but the law says that from 20 weeks, you get a birth certificate. So I had to name her. I couldn’t let it say just ‘Baby Girl.’ So I named her Amelia, and gave her Liam’s name, and listed him as the father. And the same went on the death certificate, with the cause of death given as ‘extreme prematurity due to placental abruption.’ That’s all Liam got from me; I mailed him copies of the certificates. He doesn’t know about the accident, or that I was hurt. That’s what he came to ask me: how did it happen? But I still didn’t tell him, because I don’t want his pity.”

Tom pulled back enough to look me full in the face. “He doesn’t know you almost died?”

“No.” I was silent for a moment. “No one who matters to me knows the whole thing. Only Liam knew I was pregnant. My other friends and family know I was hit by a car and was in a coma for a few days. No one in Chicago knew I was married. I’ve never told the whole story to anyone, until you.”

“I…wow.” Tom seemed to need to gather his thoughts for a moment. His face expressed all the sorrow I had felt and carried with me since that terrible day. His hand cupped my face. “You thought you’d lost everything, didn’t you?”

I nodded, slowly. “All I had was myself, and my skills. I decided I wanted to start over. I found this job in London and left my old life behind. The divorce wasn’t final, so I had to let Liam know where I was, but I never saw him or spoke to him again, until Saturday night.”

“I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through. But I’m glad that you’re here with me, now.” He kissed me, gently, slowly, and kept kissing me until I released the tension I wasn’t aware I’d been holding in my shoulders. I melted into him, and he pulled me down with him as he lay back on the cushions.

We lay there together on our sides, and he kissed my pain away. He played his free hand soothingly over my body, not trying to inflame but merely to calm and reassure. I opened my eyes and found him watching me.

I smiled. “What are you thinking?”

“What an amazing woman you are. You’ve been through so much, but you don’t dwell on it. You’ve moved forward and made the life you want for yourself. I’d hope I could do that, if I had to, but I don’t know.”

“I think you would. You seem to know what you want and how to get it.” I slid my hand across his hip and gave his arse a squeeze.

He laughed, low in his chest. “As do you, my dear.” He kissed me again, more deliberately, deeper. My heart sped up, arousal making me feel warm. Tom’s hand went to the hem of my dress. “Are you wearing suspenders again?” he teased.

“Always,” I answered truthfully. I hated pantyhose; they felt too confining.

He groaned in appreciation and moved his hand up my leg to find out for himself. Moving off the couch to kneel on the floor, he adjusted my position so that I was flat on my back. As he continued to kiss me, he slid his fingers into my panties.

“Wet for me already, are you?” he murmured against my lips.

“Yes,” I whispered as he slid two fingers inside. His touch felt so good as he brushed his thumb over my clit. I couldn’t help but make little mewling noises as he teased me, varying speed and pressure to make me frantic with need. “Tom, please! So…hot,” I complained, tugging at my dress.

“Feeling a little overheated?” His laughter reflected his delight at the effect he had on me. “We can’t have that.”

I pouted slightly when Tom removed his hand from between my legs, but I knew he wouldn’t leave me wanting. I sat up and shed my dress while he made quick work of removing his own clothing.

“Go on, darling: take it all off.” I had left my lingerie on, not knowing whether Tom would want me to leave the stockings on as before. “I want to see all of you, have you completely naked in my living room with all the lights on. If I had a spotlight, I’d shine it on you.” He kissed me, my chin in his hand, slowly and deeply. I reached back with both hands and unfastened the hooks of my bra, letting it slide down my arms to the floor before pressing my hands to his firm chest. I felt his heartbeat pounding fast with his obvious arousal.

He pulled back, surveying me. “Take it off,” he repeated. I tried to be graceful as I removed the suspender belt and sat down on the couch to remove the stockings. When I moved to stand again, planning to remove the lacy knickers that were the last item of clothing I had on, Tom stopped me.

“Wait,” he said, and his face held pure lust. “Allow me.” Kneeling, he reached for the satiny cloth with both hands. He tugged it down off my hips and over my knees, letting it fall, and then pressed towards me, spreading my legs and pushing me back against the couch. His mouth claimed mine again, hungry, invading. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, eager for his skin.

Kissing and teasing his way slowly down my body, Tom drove me insane with need. By the time he reached the curls between my legs I was sure I would come from a single touch. He paused, savouring my desperation, which must have been obvious in the way my body strained towards him, and I’m sure in the look on my face.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he told me, his eyes shining. “You’re not afraid to show me how much you want me.” He lowered his mouth and slowly traced a circle around my clit with the tip of his tongue. A high-pitched sound escaped my throat, and I buried my fingers in his hair. Relenting, he started to lick me in earnest, holding me to him, both hands gripping my hips.

As primed as I was, it didn’t take long before I was coming hard, screaming Tom’s name and pulling on his hair. He rode it out, refusing to stop or even slow his dancing tongue until I was completely wrung out. When my grip on his hair finally loosened, he sat back on his heels and looked up at me.

“So beautiful. There’s just something about making you surrender. I can’t get enough.” As I lay there, exhausted, he twisted around and lifted the lid of a small wooden box on the coffee table behind him. He turned back, tearing open a condom packet. “I know you’re tired, darling. Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work.”

Having applied the condom, Tom scooped up my legs, his elbows under my knees, and leaned forward. “Feeling limber, Caro?” he asked as he prepared to enter me. “Because right now, I want to break you in half.”

A gasp was escaped me as he drove his cock into me, pushing me deeper into the cushions of the couch. He shifted his arms, sliding his hands down the back of my calves until he was gripping my ankles, which he held by my ears. The back of my thighs burned like fire from being stretched without warning, but it somehow added to the pleasure I felt rather than distracting from it. Tom hovered above me, his face a mask of concentration as he watched his cock plunge repeatedly into my body. We touched only at his hands on my ankles and the most intimate of places.

He looked back up at my face. Whatever he saw there made his soften, his eyes fill with tenderness. “My Caro,” he breathed. “So willing to be mine. Tell me. Tell me you’re mine.” The raw emotion in his words made my eyes fill with tears.

“I’m yours, Tom. Take me, show me.” Lowering his face to mine, he kissed me gently, in a strange contrast to the continued pounding of his hips.

“Mine,” he whispered, and then claimed my mouth, dropping my ankles on his shoulders and burying his hands in my hair. He continued this passionate assault until he came, breathless and panting, a few moments later.

When we had recovered, lying together again on the couch, Tom smoothed a curl off my forehead and gazed at my face like he would memorise it. “I know it’s crazy,” he said, “but I’m a little jealous of Liam, knowing that he’s seen you this way. I’ve never felt so…possessive of anyone before. I know we’ve only known each other for a few days, but there’s just something about you…” He trailed off, either unsure of his words or seeing something in my face.

“It is a little crazy,” I said, smiling to soften my words. “But then maybe I’m a little crazy too. Having a man I just met tell me he wants me to possess me should make me scared, shouldn’t it? I guess there’s something about you, too.” I traced one sharp cheekbone with my thumb. “I want to be yours.”

He smiled, a genuine expression of joy that lit up his entire face. “My wonderful, amazing Caro. My beautiful girl.” His kiss was full of emotion, his arms held me close.

We lay there, kissing and caressing each other, until the sweat drying on our bodies made us shiver. “We should go to bed,” Tom said, rising to his feet and offering me a hand. “You have to work in the morning, don’t you?”

I sighed as I accepted his help. My legs were sore, a pleasant reminder. “Yes, and this one’s a twenty-four.” At his puzzled look, I explained. “I’m on duty for the entire twenty-four hour period. I have to stay in the hospital from nine in the morning until nine or ten on Wednesday morning.

Tom looked incredulous. “Are you working the whole time?” He started gathering up our discarded clothing, and I followed him to the bedroom.

“On and off. Depends on what happens. I don’t usually get much sleep. I’ll make it up with a nap when I get home.”

Tom’s bedroom was very masculine, with dark colours and a sturdy wooden queen-sized bed. The covers were turned back, revealing sheets of deep green. My overnight bag sat on the foot of the bed. Rummaging about, I came up with my toothbrush and a small bag of toiletries. I grinned at Tom.

“I packed a nightie, but I guess that would be like closing the barn door after the horse has bolted.”

He laughed, seeming to find my words funnier than I had intended them. “Is that something they say in America?” he asked. “I suppose you’re right, though if you wanted to model it briefly for me, I wouldn’t say no.” He came closer, drew me to him. “I’d just take it off you again,” he said against my lips just before kissing me.

“You know,” I said playfully. “We haven’t actually sullied your sheets yet.”

“Oh, we will,” he replied with mischief in his eyes. “I guarantee it. But not tonight. Tonight, you need some sleep.”

“Yes, Tom,” I said mockingly as I moved to grab my things and head for the bathroom. I was quite used to people telling me I needed more sleep. I was used to my irregular schedule, and I thrived at night.

Tom caught my arm. “Don’t use that tone with me, Caro.” I looked up into his face and saw that he was serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m just sick of people telling me I don’t get enough sleep. I’m an adult, for Christ’s sake. I can take care of myself. If I want to be up at odd hours and nap in the daytime, who cares?” I looked pointedly at his hand on my arm. “Are you going to let me go to the loo?”

Tom let go, seemingly startled that he was still gripping my arm. “Sorry.” He wouldn’t look at me, turning to shake out his rumpled suit. I shrugged and went to brush my teeth.

When I returned from the loo, Tom acted as though the strange confrontation hadn’t happened. He had moved my bag to the floor and was stretched out on his side on the bed. His pale skin almost seemed to glow, backlit by the light of the bedside lamp, against the dark sheets. His head was propped on one hand, watching me as I walked naked to my bag and put my things away. “You can leave anything you need here,” he said. “I certainly hope you’ll stay here often.”

I smiled, joining him on the bed. After pulling up the covers, he folded me in his arms, enveloping me in his warmth and his scent. Rolling onto his back, he settled my head on his chest as he reached to turn out the light.

“Sleep well, my darling,” he whispered into my hair.

He must have tired me out more than I had thought, for I was asleep before I could reply.


	9. Communications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom heads to Sydney for the world premiere of _Thor_.

The next few weeks went by in a blur. I was working, designing, knitting. Tom was filming while also doing interviews for Thor and getting ready for its premiere. We spent every night we could together, usually going out for dinner and sometimes the theatre, a film, or dancing. We always ended up in each other’s arms, our hunger for each other’s bodies showing no signs of waning. Tom was an attentive lover, showering me with complements, flowers, and thoughtful gifts. When we were alone, he was always the one in control, and in the depths of his passion, his highest praise was “mine.”

The world premiere of Thor was scheduled in Sydney, as a gift to Chris Hemsworth. Tom wanted me to come with him, but I couldn’t get free from work.

“I wish you had been able to work something out. I’ll miss you so terribly.” He kissed my shoulder as he spooned me in the dark, his hand running idly down my side.

I sighed. “I’ve tried, Tom, I really have. I wanted to go. But it’s just impossible. Maybe L.A.” I still had time to try to change my schedule, since the Hollywood premiere wasn’t for another three weeks, but since holidays were assigned months in advance, it was looking unlikely.

“What will you do while I’m away?” His tone was teasing, but the question was loaded.

“Work, mostly, since work is why I can’t go with you.” I took his hand from my hip and raised it to my lips, kissing his palm. “And I’ll miss you. Is that what you want to hear?”

He kissed just behind my ear. “I want to hear that you’ll ache for me, you’ll pine for me.”

“You’ll only be gone for a few days, Tom. Is that enough time to pine?”

“I pine for you every hour we’re apart.” I had only his voice in the dark. I couldn’t tell whether he was wearing that little smirk that meant he was mocking me, daring me to take him seriously.

I turned in his arms. “Tom?”

His mouth was suddenly on mine, his fingers threading through my hair. His kiss, passionate so soon after making love, took my breath away.

“I need you, Caro. I need to touch you, hold you, know that you’re mine. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.” He kissed me again, his tongue aggressive, invading, making me gasp for air. “What am I going to do, half a world away from you?”

I didn’t know how to answer him. I would miss him too, but I knew that I would be busy, with plenty to do to fill the days he would be away.

“You’ll have a fantastic time, that’s what you’ll do.” I stroked his face, smooth now for _Thor_ publicity. “And you’ll call me when you can. But I’ll bet you’ll be having so much fun, you won’t get the chance.”

“Don’t say that,” he hissed, gripping my arm. “I will not neglect you while I’m away. Never think that.”

I kissed him, tenderly, close-mouthed. “I know you won’t. Now relax, and go to sleep. We’ll both be fine. I promise.”

He took a deep breath, held it, let it out. “You’re right, darling,” he said. “Of course.”

_________

We got up painfully early, as Tom’s flight to Sydney by way of Singapore left before seven. I stayed in my dressing gown, since I intended to go back to bed for a little while after he left. He was leaving me a set of keys; why pay someone to water your plants when your girlfriend will do it for you?

Tom’s mobile rang: Luke, Tom’s publicist, was calling from the taxi out front. “Give me five minutes, man, okay? Great.”

Tom was dressed comfortably in his favourite jeans and grey t-shirt, and his leather jacket was draped over his suitcase in the hall. He scooped me into his arms, startling me in my half-awake stupor.

“I want you to do something for me while I’m away,” he murmured in my ear as he held me tight.

“Sure, what?” I asked, breathing him in, trying to store up his scent before he left. It occurred to me that I could take the shirt he wore yesterday home with me, and sleep with it under my pillow. I suddenly felt sixteen again. What was I thinking?

“Stay here. I want to be able to think of you, sleeping in my bed. When you’re not at work, obviously.” He seemed awkward, unsure how I would reply.

“Um, yeah, okay.” My brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders at four in the morning, with little sleep and no caffeine, but it sounded like a good idea. The bed will certainly smell like him, I thought. I’d have to get some clothes and things from my place, but sleeping here would be no hardship.

He smiled, relieved. “Good, then,” he said, stepping into the hall to put on his jacket and get his case. “I’ll call you from Singapore. I still wish you were coming with me.” He looked forlorn, and suddenly so young.

I hurried to him and stood on tiptoe to kiss him one last time before he left. “Have a good flight. I’ll miss you, but you’ll be home before you know it.”

He smiled again, holding me to him. “And you’ll be here.” It wasn’t quite a question, but I answered him anyway.

“Yes, Tom.” My echoing of the sexually submissive refrain made him smirk, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Good,” he said suggestively, kissing me with sudden passion, only breaking away when his mobile rang again.

As I settled back into the cosy, but empty-seeming bed, I realised how much trust Tom was placing in me. Having a set of keys was one thing. Actually living in his house was another. Was he inviting me to snoop, or trusting me not to? Exhaustion won out and, hugging Tom’s pillow, I drifted back to sleep.

________________________________

The flight from London to Singapore was over 13 hours, so I wasn’t surprised not to hear from Tom until late evening.

“Caro, darling! It’s so good to hear your voice. Where are you?”

“It’s Thursday, I’m at Loop.” The shop stayed open until seven-thirty on Thursdays, but after closing a select group of knitters and designers met here. It was more of a networking event than a stitch-n-bitch.

“Oh, right,” Tom said absently. I could hear crowd noise around him, and figured he must be walking to his connecting flight. “It’s Friday morning here.”

That felt somehow depressing: we weren’t even experiencing the same day. “You must be exhausted,” I said.

“More disoriented than exhausted, but I’m sure I’ll be ready to crash when we get to Sydney. Luke says we shouldn’t sleep on the plane, or our body clocks will be completely wrong.” He sighed. “I’m not sure I can stay awake. It’s another nine hours, plus getting to the hotel.”

“That’s rough. I’d almost feel sorry for you if you weren’t going there because you’re a big movie star.”

“So cruel, Caro. I’m not as used to losing sleep as you are, darling.” The banter was perking him up; he loved to tease me.

“Admit it: I’m tougher than you.”

“You win, darling.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Are you sleeping in my bed tonight?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered, puzzled. “I said I would.”

“I’m going to imagine you there, thinking of me. Perhaps a little…impatient. Too eager to wait for me.”

I moved away from the group at the back of the shop. “Should I imagine you, imagining me? I think I can picture that.”

He laughed, a low sound that reminded me of the first night we’d met, and how he’d directed me to touch myself, driving me crazy with my own hands. “Just so you think of me,” he said.

“When I’m not working, I think of little else.” My hand flew to cover my mouth, but the words were already out. While I was willing to tell him I was his during sex, other times I had remained a bit more reserved. I hadn’t meant to be so candid.

“Oh, Caro. You had to say that when I’m so far away. You know that I think of you constantly, don’t you?” I did, as he frequently told me that he needed me, he thought about me all the time, he wanted me all to himself. It bordered on obsessiveness, but he hadn’t yet said that he loved me. 

“Tom.” I tried to put all my affection for him into one word. “You’d better be paying attention to catching your flight. There’ll be hell to pay if you’re stranded in Singapore because you lost track of time, chatting up your girlfriend on your mobile, at an alarming cost, no doubt.”

“I let Luke worry about getting me where I need to go,” he laughed. “That’s what I pay him for, anyway. He has me on a lead, so I can’t go astray.”

“Go on with you!” I exclaimed. “He does not!”

“Not really, but if I tarry, he comes back and herds me along.”

I was envisioning Luke as a sheepdog now, and giggling madly.

“Caro, I have to go now. But when you’re ready for bed, look in the top drawer of my chest, the one by the window. Got that?”

“What are you up to?” I wanted to run to Tom’s house straight away, suddenly insanely curious to find out what surprise he had hidden for me.

“What’s that, darling? I can’t hear you!” He was quite obviously holding his mobile out at arm’s length and shouting at it.

“Stop it! Tom!” The knitting group was looking at me curiously now, all pretences of giving me some privacy dropped.

His voice was back to normal again. “I can’t let you wheedle it out of me, darling, because you will. I can’t resist your charms. Now I really do have to ring off. Luke is looking daggers at me.” He lowered his voice, speaking his next words in a husky whisper. “I miss you. I know it hasn’t even been a day, but I know it’s going to be five, and I hate it.”

“I miss you too, but you’re there doing what you’ve always wanted to do. This is a huge role for you, Tom. You’re working. You have to put your heart in it.”

“That’s hard to do when I’ve left my heart in England. But you’re right, darling.” He went on before I could reply. “Don’t forget to look in the drawer, but not before you’re ready for bed. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good girl. I’ll call you when I get to the hotel in Sydney. I’ll be thinking of you.” His voice was soft, but full of emotion.

“I’ll be thinking of you, too,” I said, just before he rang off.

_________________________

Despite knowing that he couldn’t possibly catch me peeking early, I followed Tom’s instructions and waited until I was ready for bed before opening the drawer he had indicated held a surprise for me. Easing open the drawer, I discovered it held his pants. _The top drawer is always pants._ On top of the neatly folded boxer shorts was a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds. Unfolding the paper, I read:

_Darling Caro – go lie down._

A laugh escaped me that he knew me so well, picturing me standing by the chest of drawers, eager to read his letter straight away. I climbed into bed and lay back against the pillows, angling a bit so that the bedside lamp gave me the best light. I had packed pyjamas, but had opted at the last minute to wear the t-shirt Tom had worn yesterday instead. I craved his touch, and hoped the smell of him would help me get to sleep. I understood what he had meant earlier: we had been apart for a day or two multiple times, but knowing that this separation would be five days made it all the harder to bear. I realised I was falling in love with him, and wondered whether what he felt was the same.

> _Are you comfortable, darling? I can’t decide what to imagine  
>  you’re wearing: naughty lingerie? Nothing? Either way, I’m sure you look delicious.  
>  Anyway, I ‘m writing you this knowing that while you’re getting  
>  ready to go to bed, I’ll be hurtling towards Sydney in a flying tin can.  
>  Imagine me squinting at my watch, trying to sort out what time it is back home,  
>  knowing that you won’t crawl into bed until at least one AM. I’m trying to stay awake,  
>  bored with my book, and I’m thinking, as always, of you.  
>  You’re in my bed, darling, so I know you must be thinking of me. You can smell  
>  me, and everything around you is mine, just as you are mine.  
>  Imagine me touching you, Caro, like you did the first night we met. Imagine I am  
>  there. It shouldn’t be too hard, in my house, in my bed. I long to be there with you, instead  
>  of in this aeroplane, travelling ever further away.  
>  While I’m gone, please treat my house as you would your own. No drawer or cabinet is  
>  forbidden to you. I trust you with my heart, so it’s easy to trust you with my home. In fact, I’ve  
>  been coming to realise that it doesn’t quite feel like home anymore when you’re not there.  
>  I’ll call you when I reach Sydney. I miss you._
> 
> _All my love,  
>  Tom_

I read the letter three or four times through before settling in to think about what it said. I didn’t know exactly what I had expected to find in the drawer, but it hadn’t been a love letter. I fell asleep, still pondering Tom’s words, with the light on and the letter on the pillow by my head.


	10. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom gets back from Sydney. Things happen.

Tuesday morning was a harsh grind. I hadn’t been sleeping well, since I had worked a 24-hour shift on Friday and slept most of the day Saturday, effectively flipping day for night and setting me up for insomnia Saturday night. Getting my period on Friday had only made me feel worse. On Sunday I napped despite planning to stay awake, ruining my chances for resting that night as well. I had been up all last night, dealing with one crisis after another. I was exhausted, and the idea of leaving my flat to travel to Tom’s house before crashing seemed insane. Knowing he was unreachable while in flight, I left a message on his mobile telling him that I was planning to take a nap before meeting him at his house later.

I was awakened by a persistent thumping sound. Disoriented, I glanced at the clock: 3:45pm. I sat up with a start. I had planned to sleep only a couple of hours before heading over to Tom’s. I probably would have fallen asleep again, but I had meant to be there waiting for him when he got home at about two o’clock. Why hadn’t he called? I scooped up my phone and a robe as I hurried to open the door before one of my neighbours complained.

“Just a second! Stop pounding!” I called as I crossed the flat, managing to put on the robe as I juggled my mobile. The battery was dead. I had been so tired that I had forgotten to plug it in. I yanked open the door. “Tom! God, I’m so sorry!” He stepped inside and shut the door, his face impassive as I babbled my explanations at him. Seeing no change in his expression, my words trailed off.

“I expected to find you waiting for me.” I thought he’d go on, but that was all he said.

“I had planned to be there, but I was so exhausted, and my flat is closer to the hospital, and my phone died. Didn’t you get my message?”

“You said you’d be there when I got home.”

“I slept longer than I thought I would. I’d been up for 26 hours, Tom. My judgment wasn’t the best. I didn’t think to plug in my mobile. I forgot to set an alarm.” I searched his face for some pity or understanding, but found none.

“You gave me your word that you would stay at my place, sleep in my bed.” I felt as though I was being chastised by my father, a teacher, my boss.

“I did stay at your place! But I needed to stop here and get a few things, and once I was here, I was so tired that taking another cab before I could sleep was unthinkable. I was only going to nap for a couple of hours, just enough to perk me up so I could head over to your house and wait for you. You have to know I was staying there if you’ve been home; I left dishes in the sink and a book on the kitchen table. The bed is unmade.”

His expression softened a little as what I was saying finally got through to him. I could understand why he’d been disappointed to arrive home and not find me there, but I wasn’t sure why it was such a big deal.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Go get cleaned up, get your things. I’ll wait.”

“Okay,” I said hesitantly. Where was the hug, the kiss, a smile at seeing me after five days away? He wanted me with him, but he wasn’t exactly acting happy about it. He simply stood there as I turned and headed for the shower.

I was rinsing the shampoo from my hair when suddenly the curtain was swept aside. Tom stood there, naked, obviously still angry and just as obviously aroused. Before I could even exclaim, he stepped into the bathtub and pinned me to the wall, kissing me like he would devour my soul. “I couldn’t wait,” he rasped in my ear as his hands claimed my breasts.

I gasped, unable to process all the sensations at once. My skin ached for his touch after five days alone, and his behaviour had me reeling. His mouth had replaced his right hand on my left breast, and his fingers were now dipping inside me, to come back slick with my arousal.

“You were supposed to be in my bed when I got home.” The words seemed completely disconnected from his actions.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped as he went to his knees and pressed his mouth between my legs. He grabbed my legs at the back of the knee and settled them on his shoulders, my back against the tile. I was trapped, pinned against the wall, gripping his hair for balance.

Clearly, Tom’s mission was to make me come as quickly as possible. He licked my clit relentlessly with the tip of his tongue, firmly, frantically. In very short order I was coming, calling out his name, my fingers tugging at his wet curls.

He looked up at me, the water making his slicked-back hair look darker than usual, and favoured me with a feral grin. Then, in one motion, he stood, sliding my legs down to catch at his elbows and impaling me on his cock. His hands gripped my hips as I screamed, scrabbling at his chest as he started thrusting into me.

“Tom! A condom! Tom! Stop!”

“You don’t want me to stop, Caro.” His voice was low in my ear. “You’re just scared of the consequences. But you’re still bleeding. You told me so.” He pulled back and looked me squarely in the eyes, still buried deep inside me. “Do you really want me to stop?”

I stared back at him, my brain frozen while my body was on fire.

“I will take your silence as consent,” he said softly. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled slowly most of the way out of me, and then slammed his hips into me, his mouth forming an ‘ooh’ of pleasure. He sped up, fucking me harder and harder against the wall, his face a cruel, indifferent mask. It was as though he considered every slap of his hips into me a punishment.

“Take it, Caro. Take me, take all of me.” He was getting closer now, snarling out the words in time with his pounding thrusts.

For my part, I had ceased being shocked, and my cries of pleasure were amplified by the tile surfaces and the small space. It wasn’t until the moment when I realised Tom was about to come that I remembered that he wasn’t wearing a condom, and I panicked.

“No!” I screamed, pulling on his wrists and trying to move away. He held me fast, his face in mine.

“You are mine,” he hissed in time with his thrusts before capturing my mouth with his as he came, pinning me to the wall as he pulsed inside me. When he had finished, he kissed me tenderly, carefully lowering me back to my feet. When I staggered, he caught my elbow. “Are you all right, darling? I suppose I was a little rough.”

I looked up into his face, which showed nothing but concern. I could feel his ejaculate running down my inner thigh. It was true that I had, rather conveniently, started my period while he was away, so pregnancy was pretty unlikely. But unprotected sex was something that warranted discussion and mutual agreement. I realised that Tom wasn’t the only one caught in the moment, though. He had asked me seriously whether to stop, and I had said nothing. I felt scared and confused, while at the same time I was happy that he no longer seemed angry with me. I wanted to please him, wanted him to want me.

“I’m fine,” I managed to say. He kissed me, tenderly, sweetly. “Welcome back,” I added.

He smiled. “Let’s get cleaned up and back to my place, and then you can welcome me _home._ ” He soaped up the washcloth and lovingly washed me all over, then washed himself while I rinsed off. After shutting off the water, he dried me completely and helped me into my robe.

Kissing me on the nose, he gave my arse a pat. “Go get dressed, darling. Let’s go home.”

Dressing quickly and tossing more clothes into my overnight bag, my mind whirled, trying to sort out what had just happened. Had I consented to what Tom had done? I was used to letting him be in control, directing what, when, where, and how. I was fine with letting him drive me past what I thought were my limits. Was this just more of the same? _He did ask…after he’d already started. After I said ‘stop.’_ We didn’t have a safeword. Did I need one?

“Caro? Are you ready?” Tom stood in the doorway of my bedroom, dressed again in casual jeans and a white V-neck t-shirt. He looked as handsome as always, his smile lighting up his eyes. I shook off my misgivings and smiled back. I’d think about it more later.

________________

“It’s so good to be home!” Tom collapsed onto the couch and beckoned for me to join him. I kicked off my shoes and snuggled into his embrace, my head on his chest.

He lifted my chin, a request to look at him. “I missed you so much,” he said the emotion clear on his face. “I missed being here with you. It’s all I wanted while I was away. And then I got home and you weren’t here; it was so disappointing. I’m sorry if I was difficult, darling.”

“It’s okay,” I found myself saying. _Wait! Say something!_ “You definitely were…difficult. I was a little afraid of you, actually.” I dropped my eyes, not sure how he would react.

“Afraid of me?” He sat up, pulling me with him. “Look at me, Caro. Afraid of me?”

I nodded. “You were pounding on my door. You were so angry. I felt like I couldn’t get through to you.”

He covered his eyes with his hand. “Caro, I’m so sorry.” He dropped his hand and took both of mine in his. “I would never hurt you. I need you to know that. Can you forgive me?”

The look in his eyes was so earnest, so pleading that my heart melted. “Oh, Tom. I already have.”

He smiled, tentatively, and then leaned slowly towards me, as though giving me plenty of time to escape if I wanted. His kiss was warm and soft and slow, asking for nothing more. As we separated, he whispered, “I love you.”

My breath caught, and I felt an ache in my chest. _I thought that only happened in stories._ “You do?”

“With all my heart, darling. Do you think that you could ever possibly love me?”

I smiled. “Of course, you silly man. I’m crazy about you.”

“Speaking of crazy…” he trailed off as he started to nuzzle my neck.

“Yes?” I drew out the word as I lost focus, distracted by the feel of his lips on my throat.

“I was just thinking, well, would you consider, um, moving in here? Permanently? Then we wouldn’t have to worry about all that…unpleasantness we had earlier.” He kept kissing me in between sentences, as though to distract me from their import.

I broke away so I could see his face. “You want us to live together?”

He smiled sheepishly. _Could he be more adorable?_ “I know we’ve only been dating a month, but we already spend every night we can together. It would just make it easier, instead of all this bag-packing we’re doing. I’ve got plenty of room. You can have one of the bedrooms as your studio.”

I gaped at him. “This is a lot to take in. Can I think about it?”

A look passed across his face; if I hadn’t been staring at him, I would have missed it. For just a moment he had looked angry again, as though he was about to shout at me. Just a flicker, and then it was gone. I wondered whether I had actually seen it or just projected it out of fear that he’d be mad that I didn’t jump at the suggestion. But he only looked a little hurt, and like he was trying to hide it.

“I’m just so used to having my own space.” I rushed to explain. “And I keep such odd hours. I get all turned around, night for day, and do things like I clean the flat at three in the morning. I don’t want to wreck your sleep.” I wondered if my excuses sounded as lame as I thought they did. “I love being with you. It’s just different actually living with someone. Have you ever lived with a girlfriend?”

“No, I haven’t.” Tom examined his hands in his lap. I knew that reminding him that I had been married before wasn’t the best thing to do, but I didn’t think that moving in together so fast was a good idea.

“When you live together, you lose the ability to always present your best self,” I explained. “You see each other without any polish or pretence. Are you sure you want to see me at my worst yet? I think I want to weave my web around your heart a little tighter first.” I whispered the last few words, my lips just brushing his ear.

Without moving, he answered, “My heart is already caught fast, my darling.” He turned his head and kissed me, his hands coming up to cradle my head. “I want to come home to you, wake up with you, take care of you. I need to have you with me. You’re mine, and I want you here. Please, come live with me.” Before I could speak, his lips claimed mine again, this time passionately, but with banked heat; a kiss that said ‘I love you’ as clearly as if he’d spoken.

“I…my lease runs until the end of July. Can we consider it a trial? I’ll move in here, but I’ll keep my flat until then. If I need some time in my own space, I can head there for a few hours. Okay?” I still wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, but I was willing to compromise. Having an escape hatch seemed like a good idea.

He frowned, thinking. “If it makes you feel better, fine. But you won’t need it. “

“Probably not,” I assured him. “But it does make me feel better.” I considered him a moment. “There’s something that’s bothering me, and we have to talk about it.”

“You’re still worried about my not using a condom, aren’t you?” He looked rueful. “I knew you were going to bring that up. I know I shouldn’t have done that. I just got so…caught up.” He took my hands again. “I put you in an awful position, and I’m sorry.”

He’d pretty much apologised for everything without my having to explain. I just couldn’t bring myself to be angry any more when he was so reasonable about it.

“Maybe I should…get back on birth control,” I said. “I don’t trust it though, obviously.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I would love to be able to forget about condoms, but I don’t want you to be constantly worrying about it. Is there any other option than pills?”

“I think so. I’ll pull some strings and see the doctor tomorrow. Rank hath its privileges.” I smiled, ready to put the conversation behind us.

“So,” he said with a cartoony leer complete with a fake moustache twiddle, “A live-in lover I can do with as I will!”

I giggled. “That reminds me: wasn’t I supposed to welcome you home?”

Tom’s silly face morphed into an appraising one. “You were. What did you have in mind?”

Without answering, I slid down to kneel in front of him. He sat in his usual knees-akimbo fashion that I often complained took up more than his fair share of the couch. I reached for his belt as I looked up into his face, now full of anticipation and a bit of wonder. “You must be so tired from your trip,” I said teasingly. “You should just sit back and let me take care of you.”

His breath caught as I unfastened his jeans, lifting his hips to allow me to slide them and his boxers down to his ankles. It was blindingly obvious that he thought this was a fantastic idea. Cradling his balls in one hand, I grasped he base of his cock with the other and took him into my mouth. He let out a gasp at the sudden contact and wound the fingers of one hand into my hair. “God, yes, Caro,” he breathed. “You naughty girl.”

I loved going down on him, despite the ache I always felt in my jaw afterwards. My Tom was not a small man. He felt so good in my mouth, solid under the soft skin. The appreciative noises he made more than made up for any discomfort I felt.

“Caro, darling, stop. I want to make you come first.” He pulled on my hair, and I moaned, unwilling to stop wringing the lovely sounds he made from him. “Caro! I—” his words were lost in a guttural cry as he came, his hips rising to bury his cock in my throat, his hand pushing my head down until I almost gagged. When he was done, I raised my head and licked my lips.

He fixed me with hooded eyes. “You disobeyed me, darling. I’m going to have to punish you.” He managed to sound just slightly regretful.

“Yes, Tom,” my tone was challenging, mocking.

“I’m very tired. I think I’ll have you punish yourself.” At my quizzical look, he smiled. “Take off your clothes.”

“Yes, Tom.” I stood, and as I stripped, he pulled his clothes back on. I gave him another questioning look.

He only gave me another order. “Sit there.” He indicated the other end of the couch. I perched on the edge of the cushion. “Lay back. Relax,” he instructed.

When I was comfortable, he spoke again. “Entertain me, darling. Show me how you pleasure yourself when I’m not there.”

My eyes widened. I had touched myself when we were making love before, but I’d never simply masturbated in from of him, or anyone. I was suddenly self-conscious in front of the man who had wrung screaming orgasms out of me at least five times per week for the past month.

“Go on, darling. It’s the only way you’re going to come tonight. If you’d stopped when I told you, I would have licked you like an ice cream cone, but now I’m too shattered.” He nestled in to the cushions, angling himself for the best view. “Best get started before I get bored and fall asleep.”

I had been ready to get up and go to bed, but the idea that he could find the sight of me splayed out naked on the couch before him boring lit a fire in my belly. _Boring? Sleep through this, Buster._

I dipped a finger into my cunt, knowing I would still be wet from how aroused I got sucking Tom off. I heard his sound of approval as I started rubbing my clit, dipping my fingers back into my slit to make them wetter. I held my lips wide with my other hand as I got closer and closer to climax, my hips thrusting. I felt Tom slide closer to me on the couch, but gave him no indication that I noticed. My breathing was heavy, but I was silent. I felt Tom’s hands on my knees, and then my hands were brushed aside as he replaced them with his mouth. I moaned at the touch of his tongue, so much better than my own fingers. I came quickly, gasping his name, writhing under him.

He lifted his head. “I couldn’t resist,” he said, licking his lips.

I smirked. “So much for my punishment,” I said.

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty head about that. You’ll make it up to me.” He ducked his head to kiss my stomach. “Come on, get up. If we don’t eat something, I’ll starve.”


	11. Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has opened worldwide, introducing Loki to the world...and to Caro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may look like non-con but is actually role-play.

Another month had passed. I had moved in to Tom’s house, and although I still paid the rent on my flat, I hadn’t set foot in it in at least two weeks. All that was there was the furniture.

I hadn’t been able to accompany Tom to the Hollywood premiere of _Thor,_ but he had accepted that without making me feel guilty. I felt that it was just as well that I stayed home; I wasn’t enthusiastic about exposing myself to the media scrutiny that I would undoubtedly get as Tom’s girlfriend. Since the film opened, his popularity had gone up quite a bit, especially with women. I made the mistake of Googling him once, and wished I could go back and not have done it. It seemed obvious that any woman on his arm was going to be ripped to shreds by his fans. Luckily Tom seemed to want to keep his personal life private. In interviews, he was a master at seeming to be open whilst actually revealing very little about himself.

For my part, I held back a lot from Julie. She didn’t know that I had moved in with Tom already. I still stopped by the lobby of my building to pick up my post on the way home, and since my only telephone was my mobile, there was no change for her to note. I figured that when the lease was up in another six weeks, enough time would have passed that it wouldn’t be quite so shocking that Tom and I were moving in together. I didn’t want to hear her say we were moving too fast. I had already dealt with my misgivings and didn’t want to revisit them. I also hadn’t told her that I had had an IUD placed so that Tom could stop using condoms. I still thought that it had happened very fast, but I didn’t want to have to worry about pregnancy if Tom got carried away again, and he was very happy with the situation. The rest of my routine was the same: work, knitting, time spent with friends. Tom always wanted to know where to find me, and texted me often when I went out without him, but he always let me know where he was, too.

While Tom was away for the Hollywood premiere, several large boxes were delivered to the house. They were addressed to him, in his own hand, and postmarked from Los Angeles. I asked him whether I should open them, but he instructed me to put them in his clothes closet and forget about them.

The day after Tom returned, he insisted we go out to dinner and a movie. The movie, of course, was _Thor._ We arrived during the previews so that no one noticed us slipping into the back of the darkened theatre. I watched the film; Tom watched me. Whenever I turned to look at him, he frowned until I turned back to the screen.

“So what do you think of Loki, darling?” he whispered in my ear during the credits. No one in the theatre had moved, since it was already well known that anyone who left before the very last frame of the movie was a fool.

I turned and looked at him. “Amazing. I don’t know how you did it. Loki is a liar. He betrays his own brother out of heartache and spite. He kills innocent people. But somehow you made him a sympathetic character…” I leaned in to whisper in his ear. “And sexy as hell. Even in that ridiculous helmet.”

He smiled, and it was Loki’s smile. “Would you fuck Loki while he was wearing that helmet?”

My eyes widened. “Is that what’s in those boxes?” He nodded, once, his eyes locked on mine. “Let’s go.” My voice was an urgent whisper.

We left, oblivious moviegoers warning us that we were going to miss the scene in the credits.

When we arrived back at the house, Tom made me wait in the living room while he went into the bedroom to change. After what felt like forever, Loki strode out of the bedroom. My jaw dropped. It wasn’t just Tom in a costume: I was in the presence of Loki, the God of Mischief. 

A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth as he stared me down. The horns of his helmet almost brushed the ceiling. I realised that he was even taller than normal; the boots must have added five more centimetres to his height. Except for his face, his throat, and his hands, he was covered in leather and metal. A green cape hung from his shoulders. His snug trousers showed me that the idea of subjugating me as Loki aroused him completely.

I dropped to my knees on the carpet, my eyes on his boots. “Prince Loki, have mercy on me, I beg you.”

“Mercy? You beg me for mercy?” He laughed, and it made me shiver. “You will get no mercy from me, Daughter of Midgard. Though, please, keep begging for it.”

He moved much more quickly than I expected in the heavy armour, his hands under my arms, lifting me off the floor to dangle in front of him as I scrabbled impotently at his armoured forearms. “Where shall I take you first, mortal? The bed? The floor? That table?” He nodded toward the kitchen.

My mouth went dry. I had two parallel sets of thoughts: I was amazingly turned on by this role playing game, but at the same time, I was scared out of my mind, as though the character I was playing actually had her own thoughts. Tom _was Loki;_ this was what he did professionally, after all. I sensed that this would be like a roller coaster ride: there would be no stopping him before it was over.

The evil smirk became a vicious grin as he placed me back on my feet. “Take off your clothes.” When I hesitated, he reached out and yanked on my blouse, sending buttons flying. “Now!”

I hurried to strip off my clothes before he decided to destroy them. He surveyed my body, taking his time about it. Moving with that startling swiftness again, he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder. I screamed.

“Your protests only inflame me more, human,” he told me as he carried me into the kitchen. Brushing the post and placemats to the floor, he dumped me unceremoniously on the table, pinning me down with one long-fingered hand on my thigh. The other cupped my breast, tweaking the nipple so that I cried out again. “You were made to be ruled,” he snarled. He kissed me, a crushing invasion of my mouth that was all about conquest rather than love. Buckles and armour edges cut into my flesh as he pressed his weight onto me. I made a strangled sound, pain and arousal and fear all mixed together.

Loki laughed in my face as he reached to unfasten a flap at the front of his trousers, revealing that he wore nothing beneath them. His erection sprang free of the confining cloth, and I swore he seemed even larger than he normally was.

“I am your god. Worship me,” he ordered.

“Prince Loki, my lord, have mercy—” my stammering words turned into a cry of surprise as he thrust himself inside me without warning.

“I said, ‘Worship me,’ worthless mortal,” Loki spoke through gritted teeth as he slammed into me.

“Please, please, great lord, have mercy on me. Let me please you, my lord, my king.” I babbled on, saying what he wanted to hear.

“Why should I have mercy for one as insignificant as you?” he snarled, his eyes boring into mine. “I could kill you tonight, and have another in my bed in an hour. Or I could keep you to have whenever I will. Ten times a day, if I like. Which of those fates would you choose, you pathetic little human bitch?” His expression was haughty, and his hips beat against me in time with his words. In the back of my mind, I realised that never before had Tom ever taken me without making sure that I had reached at least one climax first. Even when angry, Tom was a gentleman, whilst Loki, though a prince, was not.

“Whatever pleases you, my lord,” I answered, eyes downcast.

“Oh, no,” he challenged. “I want to hear you beg.” His fingers gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Beg for your life.”

“Please. Please, Loki, spare me. Do with me as you will, but please don’t kill me.” It wasn’t hard to sound fearful, since Tom made it seem so real and immediate.

“Tell me you love me.” He searched my face, suddenly vulnerable, his need for acceptance naked. Then it was gone again. _Was that Loki, or Tom?_ He still held me down, his hands on my shoulders as he fucked me roughly on the table, which creaked and shuddered under the onslaught.

“Loki, please! I love you.” I decided to take the act up a notch and give him more than he demanded. “Take me, please. I want you, Loki. Do me just like that, yes!” I arched under his hands angling my hips to meet his. “Please, Loki! More!” The fear was gone, and in its place was a sense of power. I would convince Loki and please Tom…and hopefully get an orgasm out of the bargain.

He fell upon me, his armour pressing uncomfortably into my stomach and breasts as he pulled me to him by my shoulders, claiming my mouth in a searing kiss. His thrusts were hard and quick, no more than a dozen more before he came, shuddering, breaking free of the kiss to let out an inarticulate moan of pleasure. As he dropped his head next to mine on the table, I narrowly missed being hit with one of the horns of his helmet. It contacted the table with a bang.

“Did I please you, my prince?” I ventured meekly.

“Well enough,” he said to the table, his breathing still heavy. “I’ll let you live, for now.” He laughed, very low. “I think I’ll even give you a reward.”

“A reward, Lord Loki?”

He pushed himself up to hover over me again, his cock still inside me. “Do you know my other name, mortal?”

I did my best to look ashamed. “No, my lord.”

He slid out of me and dropped to his knees. “Loki Silver-Tongue.”

“Oh, my god,” was all I managed before the electric jolt of his tongue on my swollen, aching clit took my words away. His fingers joined his mouth in teasing me, inflaming me, spreading his seed down my thighs and onto my belly. Feeling my orgasm approaching like a speeding bullet, I reached out and grabbed Loki’s horns, pulling him closer. His tongue stopped moving, and I shrieked in frustration.

He laughed, and the vibration against my clit made me jerk. He raised his head against the pressure of my hands on his helmet. “You’re not going to find release that easily, my pet,” he purred, rising to his feet. He towered over me as I lay naked and panting on the table. He held out one hand. “Come on. This is going to take some time. I’d rather not spend it kneeling on a hard floor.”

I reached out one hand and he pulled me to my feet. Then he picked me up again, this time in both arms, like a bride. He stared hungrily at my breasts and actually licked his lips as he carried me into the bedroom and dumped me on the bed. He was dripping sweat, and I realised that the how hot he must be in the heavy armour. However, he made no move to remove any of it, since without it he wouldn’t be Loki.

He lay next to me on the bed and pinned my hands over my head with one huge hand. The other roamed over my body, stroking, pinching, tweaking. I writhed and gasped under his touch.

He whispered in my ear. “I am going to torment you, bring you to the edge time after time, never letting you find release, until you are a begging, whining, pleading shell with no dignity left to you. I will fuck you as many times as I am able. And when I am finally done with you, if you have pleased me, I will grant you release.” He paused. “And you will thank me.”

I thought I was going to come right then, just from his voice in my ear saying such filthy things. Loki could sense my excitement, and petted me soothingly until I calmed down enough for him to begin torturing me again.

Three times, he brought me to the brink, with his tongue, with his fingers, with his cock rubbing against my clit, defying my attempts to capture him by tilting and thrusting my hips. He taunted me, laughing. “You want me to fuck you, you little whore?” I cried out in frustration, the ache between my legs too much to bear. “I’ll have some mercy on you, then,” he said smugly as he flipped me to my belly. Dragging my hips to him, he entered me roughly from behind. When I tried to reach down to rub my clit, he dragged me back to the edge of the bed, trapping my arms by the wrists on either side of my head. “Naughty little bitch, only thinking of yourself,” he growled. “You are here to pleasure me. And it pleases me to make you beg. To make you insane with need.” He pounded into me, the twinge of his cock hitting its deepest extent making me wince at the combination of pleasure and pain.

I didn’t know what I was saying anymore. I begged, I pleaded, I cursed him. “Loki, please! Let me come, or kill me! I can’t take anymore! God, yes, fuck me harder, you insane bastard!”

My performance must have excited him, for he came without warning, his surprised grunt telling me that he was just as unprepared. He pulled back, grabbing one of my legs and flipping me back over like a rag doll. Fixing me with his glare, he thrust three fingers inside me, smirking at the wet sound they made, and worrying my clit with his thumb.

“Please,” I begged. “Please, don’t stop.” I couldn’t handle it if he brought me to the edge again and didn’t let me go over. He had been keeping me on the brink of orgasm for hours. I didn’t think my body or my mind could take any more.

A light tap on my cheek brought my attention back to his face. “Don’t go out on me now, pathetic woman of Midgard. If you neglect me, I will not be pleased. And if I am not pleased, I shudder to think what will happen to you.”

My eyes widened. “Please,” I whispered.

He leaned forward, his face gentle and kind. When his lips brushed my ear, he whispered, “No.”

I screamed.

Loki drove me to the edge of madness. I lost count of the number of times I reached for release but failed. He took me twice more, once hard and fast, my legs held wide, and finally slowly, lovingly, wrapped in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist as I straddled his lap and he kissed me, never breaking contact as he plunged deep inside me. When he came, I started to cry, deep, wracking sobs of frustration and hopelessness that subsided only when he laid me on my back and, with his mouth, finally gave me the release I had been denied all night. He clung to my hips as they bucked, and I made loud, inhuman sounds as all the pleasure denied to me so many times hit me like a tidal wave.

When I went limp, he rose up on his knees and simply looked at me, his face impassive. Then he smiled. “I’ll keep you for now, human. I’m going to see how many nights in a row you can stand being treated this way before you die.”

I could only flutter my eyelids and raise one hand. “Thank you, my lord,” I muttered. He threw back his head and laughed.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remembered was the familiar press of Tom’s naked body, spooning me from behind. He smelled clean, and his hair was damp against my cheek as he pulled me to him. Dawn light was seeping in the window.

“Caro?”

“Hmmm?” I managed.

“I—I’m Tom again. Are you all right?” He kissed my cheek.

“Mmm hmm,” I murmured sleepily, snuggling into his warm embrace.

“I love you, Caro.”

“I love you, Loki.”

He laughed, softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am planning to revamp this chapter as a stand-alone short story starring Loki (not Tom as Loki, but actually Loki). So when you see that, expect it to be rather familiar!


	12. Photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picture is worth a thousand words.
> 
> ATTENTION ARTISTS! There is a moment in this chapter that I would dearly adore seeing illustrated. Alas, I cannot draw. Please comment here if you would interested in helping (I'm willing to pay for a commission), or message me privately on LiveJournal (Cumberknit there as well). Thanks!

Filming had started on _Avengers Assemble,_ which Tom referred to as “Group Hug.” He was in L.A. most of the time, but flew home every chance he got to be with me. He tried to get me to take a leave of absence from work so that I could come with him, but I refused to consider it. We’d had some arguments about it, but he seemed to understand when I explained that I considered my career a calling, the same way he felt about acting.

One Sunday morning in early June, I stumbled home after another busy night on call and fell into bed. I had texted Tom on the way home, and he replied that he was out for a run. When I awoke at noon, there was a note on his pillow:

Meet me at 2 o’clock. It doesn’t matter what you wear.

The address was in the West End.

I smiled. Tom liked to set up romantic rendezvous and lure me to them. It always resulted in a wonderful time and spectacular sex. I could have Googled the address, but that would have taken the mystery out of it.

At two PM, I arrived at the address on Tom’s note. My eyebrows lifted as I saw that it was a photography studio. The sign on the door showed that the studio was closed Sundays. There was a woman waiting at the door though, and she let me in before I could knock, closing the door behind me. She ushered me into the back of the studio, which was bright with professional lighting equipment, all focused on a white chaise lounge. Tom came to greet me with a kiss.

“Punctual as always, darling. Caro, this is Veronica, the owner, and one of the best in the business. I’ve asked her to take some photos of you, just for me. I don’t want you to worry: no one else will ever see them. Veronica will give me the memory card as soon as we’re done.” He looked at me, expectantly.

I put the pieces together: it hadn’t mattered what I wore because these were going to be either costumed or nude photographs.

I glanced at Veronica. “Do you do this often?”

She nodded. “Fairly often. I can promise you, I value my reputation. If my clients couldn’t trust me, I wouldn’t still be in business.”

I met Tom’s eyes. “All right,” I answered. “What do you want me to do?”

Tom’s face broke out in a grin, and I realised that he had been worried that I would refuse. Veronica brought me to another room in the back, where a man waited in front of a mirror and adjustable chair. “Vincent will do your makeup and hair, “ she said. “Then I’ll show you the changing room.”

Vincent chatted about nothing while he made up my face, accenting my eyes and the paleness of my skin. He twisted my dark curls into a romantic hairdo that framed my face.

Veronica returned and showed me to a dressing room, where a set of sapphire blue lingerie hung on a hook. “That’s yours to keep,” Veronica informed me. “Tom brought it with him.” She left me alone, shutting the door behind her. I giggled a little; I was going to come out in this filmy little nothing and eventually, I expected, take it off. She thought I needed privacy to change? I remembered back to my days as an artists’ model in college, how the distinction was made between the nude figure on display and the clothed person before and after class. I supposed that giving the client privacy to change clothes was a part of Veronica’s work habits.

I pulled the silk chemise on over my head. The lace over my breasts did nothing to conceal my nipples, but from the waist all the way down to my ankles, the silk was solid and smooth. The robe-like negligee was completely sheer, with lace at the neck and edging. I turned slowly in front of the mirror. The colour brought out my eyes and somehow made them bluer, rather than competing with them. With Tom’s hair dyed to play Loki, his colouration was the same. The photos would look almost as if they were in sepia tones with the exception of the blue lingerie and our eyes. Tom had provided no shoes or stockings, so I padded out to the studio in my bare feet.

Tom was speaking animatedly to Veronica, his hands waving, presumably talking about the shoot. When I stepped into the pool of light, he broke off and stared at me, captivated.

Veronica indicated the chaise lounge. I sat and allowed her to position me on my back, my head pillowed on arm of the chaise. She retreated and started taking pictures, calling out instructions for where to look, to arch my back, to place my arm up over my head. I could hear Tom murmuring in the background, I assumed giving her suggestions.

“Hike up the skirt,” Veronica instructed, and I obeyed. “Higher. He wants to see your legs.” I blushed but pulled the silk higher, bunching it up at the waist. The negligee spread out across the cushions and spilled over onto the floor. As I turned my head, I heard Tom gasp along with the click of the camera. _He likes what he sees._ The thought made me bolder, and I pulled up the fabric a little more.

I heard Tom conferring with Veronica, and then he came into the light. He was bare-chested, having taken off his shirt. His eyes were shadowed since he was lit from behind, but his face was intent. He stood even with my waist behind the chaise and reached to pull up the hem of the chemise. Veronica started taking photos again as I gazed at Tom. The bright lights highlighted just how sculpted his muscles were and brought out the strong line of his jaw.

As the camera continued clicking, Tom revealed more and more of my skin, reaching up to slide the negligee off my shoulders and tracing my nipples through the lace bodice. My breath caught as I started to become aroused, despite the audience.

Suddenly, Tom straightened, holding up a hand to Veronica. “Take off the chemise, and put the negligee back on,” he instructed me. His eyes smouldered with lust, and I wondered how far Veronica would let him go in front of the camera.

When I had done as he asked, Veronica positioned me once again, this time with my legs over the arm of the sofa. She waited, silently, while Tom ran his hands over me, fondling my breasts and trailing his fingers up my thighs. When he deemed me aroused enough, he nodded to Veronica, who started snapping pictures again. Tom stepped out of the shot, and when he returned, he was nude. He was obviously as aroused as I was, his cock ruddy and jutting out from his body, his breathing heavier than normal.

Tom lifted one of my feet off the arm of the chaise and started kissing my inner ankle. I writhed as he slowly travelled up the inside of my thigh and nuzzled the hollow where my leg met my body. His eyes met mine, looking up the length of my body, taking in the flush of arousal that coloured my skin, my hands fisted in the silk of the negligee, so dark against my pale skin. Slowly, he dragged the very tip of his tongue over my clit, making me cry out.

—click—

—click——click—

Tom grasped my hips with both hands to hold me against his mouth and prevent me from squirming away. He licked me relentlessly, first broadly with the surface of his tongue, then darting the tip across my clit. I clutched at his hands, his hair, curling up to him, insanely aroused.

—click—

Veronica came closer, careful not to block the lights. 

—click—

Tom rose from his crouch at the end of the chaise lounge, mouth still firmly clamped between my legs. He pushed me back along the cushions until my head was at the very edge. He was bent over the arm of the chaise now, my legs caught on his arms so that I couldn’t get any traction to push away, had I tried.

—click——click——click—

Tom pushed just a little more, and my head fell back over the edge of the cushion. My eyes popped open as I clutched for purchase, and I saw Veronica there, the camera aimed up the length of my body just as I came, gasping and screaming Tom’s name.

—click—  
—click——click—  
—click—

She continued taking photos as Tom dragged me back towards him, sliding me easily across the silk of the negligee, which was now bunched up under my back. She darted in and smoothed the fabric out, putting a colour contrast between my pale skin and the white chaise lounge. Tom ignored her presence.

Hiking my hips up onto the pillows at the end of the chaise, Tom leaned forward, one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his cock, guiding himself into me. Once he got the tip of his cock in, he let go of it and grabbed my thigh instead. Looking up the length of my body, he held my gaze briefly before glaring intently into the camera lens. _Dear lord, he’s never looked sexier than this moment._

—click—

He shifted his gaze back to mine as he slowly pushed into me. I could feel him stretching me open, centimetre by centimetre, giving Veronica plenty of opportunity to capture this most intimate moment between us. _I can’t believe I’m letting Tom fuck me in front of a stranger._ The thought flitted through my mind but was dismissed because I was loving it.

—click——click—  
—click—

Tom’s cock was buried completely within me now, and he pulled back just as excruciatingly slowly as he had pushed in. Maintaining eye contact, he did this several more times, until Veronica circled around from my head to the side, signalling that she was satisfied with the photos she had taken from that angle.

Tom surged forward to cover my body with his. He ran his fingers through my hair, kissing me passionately as his hips set a rhythm, not too fast, not too slow. When I wrapped my legs around his waist, I felt Veronica move them lower, just trapping his calves. I assumed it was so she could get a clearer view of Tom’s incredible arse as he danced over me, our hips locked together in time. My hands played over his back, and I trailed one down to squeeze his arse. Veronica circled around, taking shots from all angles. As we continued, she actually ascended a stepladder placed nearby and took some photos from above. I wouldn’t even have noticed if she hadn’t spoken.

“Turn on your sides now.” The direction was spoken plainly, as if she was conducting a regular photo shoot, not instructing a couple how to fuck.

Our hips stilled, pressed tightly together so as to stay connected as we rotated, ending with Tom on the inside, his back against the back of the chaise, mine exposed to view. _God, I hope my arse doesn’t look huge._ Veronica fluttered about, arranging my negligee so that it draped off my shoulders to the floor, exposing my skin from the shoulder blades down. She tucked a pillow under our heads. Her professionalism and Tom’s calmness and acceptance of direction kept me from releasing the nervous laughter that threatened to spill out of me. She stepped back up the ladder and started taking photos again.

—click—

Tom’s free hand was on my breast while mine caressed his hip. Our legs were intertwined as we kissed, long, slow kisses full of restrained heat.

“I could make love to you like this for days,” he whispered against my lips, too soft for Veronica to hear.

“Please, do,” I answered, pulling him closer still.

—click—

As Veronica came around to the front of the chaise again, Tom pulled my head back, exposing my throat. I moaned as he licked a line of fire from my collarbone to my chin, returning to suck on the soft skin over my pulse.

—click—

“Tom! Don’t leave a mark!” Love bites didn’t exactly add to my professional image, and we had an agreement that he wouldn’t leave any that could be seen in normal clothing. Sometimes he got carried away, and needed reminding.

“But I love to mark you. _You’re mine.”_ Tom’s demeanour changed in an instant, amorous lover giving way to possessive master. He reached down and scooped up my uppermost leg with one arm whilst wrapping the other around my torso, rolling and sliding me at the same time so that I lay under him again. Once I was flat on my back, he sat back on his heels and pushed my legs wide, exposing our connection to the camera again. “Veronica, get some close-ups,” he said as he started to move, his hips gaining speed and force with every thrust. “No one gets to fuck you but me.”

“Yes, Tom!” I said breathlessly, still taken aback at the sudden change of pace. “But I don’t want to make a porno movie! I thought this was supposed to be romantic.” I struggled to bring my legs together, to wrap them around his waist, but he held them open.

“I want pictures of how we are, and this is part of how we are. You love it when I fuck you like this. You tell me so.” Tom frowned, but whether he was worried about the present moment or my truthfulness, I wasn’t sure. Veronica had stopped taking photos. “Why aren’t you taking pictures?”

“I won’t take pictures if one of you doesn’t want them,” she said from above my head. “And it doesn’t sound like Caro’s happy right now.”

Tom glared at her. “I’m paying you to take these photos. Caro’s fine, aren’t you, darling?” With his last word, he thrust completely into me and stayed there, pressed against me as hard as he could. His eyes were blue fire, willing me to agree. I couldn’t resist him; he was a force of nature.

“Yes, Tom. Go on, Veronica.” Tom wore a self-satisfied smirk as Veronica huffed her grudging consent.

“Once she gets these shots, I want you to ride me, darling.”

“How much more, Tom?”

“You’re not getting bored, are you darling?” He punctuated the question with a particularly vigorous thrust, making me cry out.

“No! It’s just strange, is all. A bit mechanical.”

He frowned. “I suppose I’m used to blocking out the lights and the audience. Actually filming a sex scene isn’t very sexy, whereas _you_ are.” His hips stilled as he lowered my legs and covered my body with his. He traced his thumb over my cheekbone. His eyes were gentle as he gazed down on me.

—click— _I’m going to like that shot._

“I would really love to get some shots with you on top of me, looking powerful and sexy. Will you do that for me, darling? Please?” I could never resist Tom when he was so earnest. I nodded.

Tom grinned, his boyish look of enthusiasm out of place in this boudoir atmosphere. “Think we can spin it?” Before I could answer, he had wrapped his arms around me and, planting one knee, tried to flip us over together. He must have misjudged the width of the chaise, because suddenly we were falling, crashing to the floor in a heap. Lucky for me, Tom was on the bottom.

I was about to ask him whether he was all right when he started to giggle, that infectious, whole-body laugh he was famous for. Only this time he was laying on a wood floor in his birthday suit, his cock still hugely erect and glistening. I had landed across his middle, but sat up to stare at him.

“Well,” I said, smirking. “ _That_ didn’t work.” Tom laughed harder, tears running down his face. One arm shot out, flailing until it found my hand. He kissed it.

“Oh, God, I love you, Caro. Don’t ever leave me.”

I was aware that Veronica had been taking photos nonstop since Tom’s laughing signalled that he wasn’t hurt.

I leant down and kissed his lips, gently, though he was still smiling, and occasionally giggling. “I love you, too. Why would I?”

“You still up for those rodeo shots?” His eyebrows did a ridiculous little dance.

I shrugged off the negligee before I moved to straddle his hips, sitting with his cock nestled against the cleft of my arse. “Maybe we’d better stay on the floor, ‘pardner,’” I answered with an exaggerated wink. “Think you can handle laying on the floor?” I wriggled, rubbing back against his cock.

He moaned. “Yes, I can handle it. Stop teasing. Come on!” He grabbed my hips, trying to lift me up enough to slide himself into me.

“After that last smooth move, don’t you think you should let me handle the docking manoeuvres?” I grinned to show him I was joking. Tom had a fantastic sense of humour, but it didn’t seem to extend to his sexual performance. The first time he had come home after being in L.A. for a week, he had come so quickly after entering me that I had made a joke about him turning into a “two-pump dump.” He had sulked for two precious hours before agreeing that he saw the humour in it.

He let go of me, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Go on, then. Show me how it’s done.” He was smiling, so it seemed I had gotten away with making fun of our pratfall. Tom was seldom this docile; I supposed that I had Veronica’ presence to thank for that. Perhaps he was trying to make up for snapping at her before, by reminding her what a nice fellow he was.

I took his upraised hands, interlacing our fingers, and came up on my knees. Locking my eyes on his, I lowered myself onto his straining cock, slowly, slowly, pausing when his hips twitched upward, continuing when they stilled. Veronica continued taking pictures as she circled around us. Tom’s eyes were wide, and his hands gripped mine. When my bottom touched his thighs, I squeezed around him, wringing a gasp from his parted lips.

—click—

I started to work my hips up and down, slowly, clenching and unclenching around him, adding a swivel to the motion at random. I released his hands so that I could run mine over my breasts and belly, and reach behind me to caress his balls. He clung to my thighs, allowing my hips their full range of motion. He was moaning now, deep within his chest, as his eyes closed and his hands clenched. He bent his knees to plant his feet on the floor for leverage and started thrusting upward to meet me. The rhythmic slapping we made was loud in the large, mostly empty space.

“Touch yourself.” His voice was low; his eyes were hooded. “Let me see you.”

I slid one hand down to rub my clit, the other supporting my weight on his thigh as I leaned back to allow Tom to gaze up my body. Of course this bared me to Veronica’s camera as well.

—click—

“Oh, yeah, baby. Come for me,” Tom crooned, as his thrusts grew harder.

“So close,” I panted. “You?”

—click——click—

“Yeah. Just come!” The strain of holding back his climax was clear in his voice. I knew that the tightening of my walls around him would send him over the edge. I reached for release, two fingers strumming my clit, Tom’s cock pounding up into me, his fingers digging into my thighs. As my orgasm hit me, I arched backwards, held up only by Tom’s iron grip on me. He moaned my name as he stopped holding back and came too.

—click—

I collapsed on top of him, the two of us once again in an untidy heap on the floor. I heard Veronica walk away across the studio as I started to get up. Tom’s long arms captured me and pulled me back down to his chest.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay with all this?” He looked concerned.

I laughed. _“Now_ you ask me?”

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can still erase the photos.” He stroked my back as he lay, seemingly comfortable, on the hard floor.

“You promised me no one would see them but us, so I’m fine with it,” I said. “Let’s get up. I’m cold.”

Tom scrambled up from the floor so that he could offer me his hand. “Such lovely manners,” I giggled. We were both naked and dishevelled, with red marks on various pressure points from fucking on the floor, in front of a stranger, no less. I found it hilarious that he was acting the perfect gentleman.

He smacked me lightly on the arse, making me squeak in surprise. “Go get dressed, then,” he smirked. He headed for the pile of his clothes I could see at the edge of the circle of light. I picked up the negligee and awkwardly put it on.

“Veronica?” I squinted in the direction I thought she had gone, unable to see past the lights into the studio. “Where’s the loo?”

She bustled up and ushered me to a tiny bathroom, waiting for me to come out so that she could take me back to the changing room. She hovered in the doorway.

“Yes?” I asked her, hesitant to strip and dress again in front of her.

She glanced around the doorframe into the hall, and then whispered, “Are you really happy with this? I could ‘lose’ the photos if you like. I’d tell him it was a bad memory card, and give him his money back.”

I frowned at her. “No, it’s fine. What makes you think I don’t want him to have the photos?”

“Well, usually couples decide together to do this before coming in. It seemed like you were surprised.” She paused. “It’s just a vibe I got, that’s all.”

“Tom likes to surprise me. Sometimes I take a little time to get my head around what he wants, that’s all. It’s fine, really.” I met her searching gaze and willed her to leave me to dress.

She sighed. “All right, then. But take this, will you?” She handed me a half-sheet of paper, turned, and left, closing the door behind her.

The paper was a small flyer:

 

Does your partner:

• Get angry with you often?  
• Hit you?  
• Yell at you?  
• Make fun of you or call you names?  
• Talk you into doing things you don’t want to do?

No one deserves to be treated that way.  
Call the Women’s Abuse Hotline at (020) 8288 8888

I crumpled it in my hand and left it on the ledge under the mirror.


	13. Bad Behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom can't get away from filming for weeks on end, and he's not taking the separation very well.

“Group Hug” was demanding a lot of Tom’s time; he was in most scenes, and when he wasn’t on camera, he was expected to be in the gym. I missed him, but I was also catching up on some things I had let slip over the past few months. I finished some knit design commissions, caught up with friends, and read books I’d let pile up. I talked to Tom almost every night, and he was always interested in how I’d spent my day. He couldn’t tell me much about the film, since Joss Whedon was so intent on keeping the movie premise under wraps that he’d forbidden the cast and crew from discussing it even with family. He described his fellow cast members, complete with impressions (though his Scarlett Johanssen was probably not so accurate; his voice was just too low). If it wasn’t too late at night (and I wasn’t at work), our calls often degenerated into phone sex.

One night, when Tom had been away for fifteen days, I was telling him about the resident who had come to me for career advice. He thought he wanted to go into neonatology, but wasn’t completely sure. He wanted to talk to me about what the job really entailed, beyond what he saw in the intensive care unit. I had taken him out to lunch for an extended chat. Tom suddenly interrupted me.

“You took him out to lunch?” His tone was incredulous, bordering on angry.

“Yeah,” I said, confused. “What’s wrong with that?”

“What will people think, seeing you leave the hospital together, seeing you return together? Did you think of that?” He was really getting worked up.

“Tom, he’s twenty-five. He’s a kid. They’ll think we’re talking. They’ll think I’m his mentor, because I am. Calm down. You’re getting angry over nothing.”

“You’re mine.” I barely recognised the growl on the line.

“Yes, Tom,” I said placatingly, glad he couldn’t see me rolling my eyes.

Evidently he heard them, since he only got madder. “Don’t fucking condescend to me!” he roared. “I’m five thousand fucking miles away, and you tell me you took a young man out to lunch. What the fuck am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to trust me,” I replied hotly. “Do you really think so little of me that I’d not only cheat on you while you’re away, but that I’d flaunt it in your face as well? Does that make any fucking sense, Tom?”

I heard him breathing, and hoped that what I had said had sunk in.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he truly sounded contrite. “I’m just going crazy, missing you. I’m jealous of anyone who gets to spend time with you right now.”

“I miss you, too, Tom. But we both have jobs to do. Yours happens to be most people’s dream job, so you should probably quit sulking about it.” I smiled as I said it, hoping that he’d hear that I was teasing.

“I know, I know. Tell me you forgive me, please? I know I can get a little carried away when it comes to you.” I could picture his face as he entreated me, the puppy-dog eyes that allowed him to get away with practically anything.

I sighed. “Of course I forgive you. Do you think I rest easy knowing you’re hanging out with Scarlett Johanssen? Or the hundreds of beautiful actresses and models that must be around all the time? Remember, you’re mine, too.”

“You have nothing to fear, my darling. I only have eyes for you.”

\---------

Another two weeks passed without a break long enough for Tom to fly home, and he sounded more and more morose when we spoke. Filming had moved to Cleveland, Ohio. I pointed out that we were now over a thousand miles closer together, but it didn’t seem to cheer him up.

Just before I was getting ready to leave work at the end of the day, my mobile rang. I answered it without looking at the ID.

“Hello, Caro Foreman.”

“Dr Foreman, hello.” The voice was male, with what I thought was an Australian accent. “We haven’t met, but Tom might have mentioned me: Chris Hemsworth?”

“Um, sure, he’s mentioned you. Why are you calling? Is Tom all right?” Surely if something had happened to Tom, I would be getting a call from Luke Windsor.

“Well, that’s why I’m calling…he doesn’t know I’m calling you, and I’d like to keep it that way, okay?” I didn’t answer, but he continued on. “Tom really misses you. I know you know that, but you don’t know how much it’s affecting him. He’s lost his focus, Caro. May I call you Caro?” I agreed that he could. “He’s not exercising like he should. He’s not quite getting into character. There’s this overlay of…sorrow he can’t shake off. I’ll tell you, I miss my wife, but I’ve never seen anything like this. I hate to say this about a colleague, especially one I consider a friend, but he’s losing his professionalism.”

“I don’t know what to say, Chris. What do you want from me? I speak to him almost every night.”

“You missed last night, didn’t you?”

I was so taken aback that I didn’t know what to say for a moment. “I was busy at work, never got a moment’s break. How did you know that?”

“Because he’s impossible today. I’m Thor, but he’s the freaking thundercloud. I tried to talk to him, and I swear he almost punched me. He’s been arguing with Joss all day. And God forbid an extra tries to talk to him. He’s made three of them cry and it’s only one o’clock. He’s so unlike the Tom I know that I thought you broke up with him until I asked him. That’s when he looked like he was going to take a swing at me. And I’m the only man here who’s bigger than him.”

“I could call him now, but I assumed he’d be on set. Why hasn’t he called me? I texted him last night to tell him I was too busy to talk. It’s not like I just didn’t call.” I knew Chris was only the messenger, but my exasperation broke through anyway.

“He needs you here. We need you here. The film needs you here.”

“I can’t just drop everything and leave the country! I have patients, and someone has to do my work if I’m not here! I only get so much holiday time, and I can’t take it without notice. I want to be with Tom, too, but I can’t just give up my life!” I knew I was shouting, taking out my frustration on him, but I couldn’t help it.

“Think about it. Please.” Chris’s voice was calm, reasonable.

“Fine,” I said, just to be able to end the call. “I’ll think about it.”

“I can’t ask for anything more. Thank you, Caro. Have a nice night.”

I sat staring out the window for a few minutes to compose myself. Luckily, Julie had left at five and so hadn’t heard me raise my voice. What could I do? How could Tom be so unprofessional? He was an actor, for Christ’s sake; couldn’t he hide how he was feeling and do his job? I tried to put it all out of my mind as I headed out to grab a quick dinner and make it to my knitting group on time.

\-----------

Two days later, I was spending my Saturday cleaning the house. I was wearing old sweats and trainers, and my hair was held back with an Alice band. I wore no makeup, and I hadn’t even bothered to shower, knowing I would spend the day getting filthy. I had the music cranked up to eleven, so I was lucky I even heard the doorbell ring. Cursing, I turned the music off (whoever was at the door now knew that I had a soft spot for Tom Jones) and turned on the security monitor. A camera pointed at the front step showed me Tom's publicist, Luke Windsor. I wondered why he hadn’t just called, but shrugged and opened the door. I didn’t care whether I impressed him or not.

Luke just blinked at me, so evidently I looked even worse than I thought. I wondered if I had dirt on my face.

“Luke! To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Hi Caro. Um, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Again, a spike of fear shot through me at the thought that something bad had happened to Tom. “Is Tom okay? You’re not coming here to tell me he’s been injured or something, have you?”

“No, nothing like that,” Luke assured me as he came in. “It’s a bit more complicated.”

I followed him into the living room. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that Chris Hemsworth called me a couple days ago?”

Luke looked startled. “He did? Well, maybe that will make it easier for me to explain. What did he say?”

I sat down after making sure I wasn’t going to dirty the upholstery. “He said that Tom’s missing me so badly that it’s affecting his work. But isn’t that what actors do? Pretend to be someone else, or to be other than they are? I miss him too, but I paste on a smile and go to work. No one seems to think anything is bothering me, because I hide it. Why can’t he?”

Luke sighed. “The ‘why’ I don’t know. But it’s hard for Tom to shift back and forth between Loki and himself because they’re so different. Because Loki is so dark, and sad, and angry, Tom relies on his naturally happy disposition to anchor himself. And that’s not working right now. Tom’s unhappy whether or not he’s playing Loki, so he’s kind of lost his way back. At least, that’s my bullshit analysis. But it’s based on how Tom’s told me he approaches characters.”

“So how did you hear about this?” I asked. “I’m sure Tom didn’t tell you that he’s not performing well and that he’s biting people’s heads off.”

“I have received phone calls in the last seventy-two hours from no less than four cast members. Hemsworth makes five, but he chose to cut out the middleman. He must have sneaked a look at Tom’s mobile while Tom was on set, and copied your number. That man is smarter than he looks.” Luke ventured a small smile, but I didn’t return it. “Anyway, they’re all telling me that Tom isn’t himself. They’re worried about him, and the film. They’re worried about damage to his image as well. He’s known for being unfailingly polite and nice to his fans, but he’s been really nasty to a few of them, especially the ones who’ve tried to flirt with him. Eventually that sort of thing will get around. Frankly, that’s the part of it I’m paid to deal with.” He looked uncomfortable. “But I’m also his friend. I’m really worried about him. I know it may not be healthy how much he misses you, but he does. Will you please go out there?”

I couldn’t bear to look at his face, full of sincere concern for Tom. “I can’t just pick up and leave,” I said evenly. “People depend on me. I have responsibilities at work.”

“Surely there’s a provision for emergency leave,” Luke said.

“It’s for medical emergencies, or a death in the family! Not for a pining boyfriend! Why doesn’t Joss let Tom come home for a few days?”

“They’re already behind schedule, and time is money on a film.” He fixed his eyes on mine. “This could mean Tom’s career. If Joss decides he needs to replace him, he may never get offered a major film role again. No one wants an unreliable actor, no matter how good he is.”

I stared at Luke, open-mouthed. “He can’t replace Tom. Tom is Loki!”

“And Edward Norton was Bruce Banner. Anyone can be replaced.”

“How can you make this about me?”

“I didn’t,” Luke said as he stood to go. “Tom did.”

I stood motionless in the living room as he let himself out.

________

On Monday, I was just finishing rounds in the intensive care unit when Julie rang from the office. “You have a telegram. I didn’t know people sent telegrams anymore.”

As I hurried down the hall to meet Julie, I wondered the same thing. This had to be done for shock value. But who would want to shock me?

Julie was practically vibrating with excitement. “I’ve never even seen a telegram before!”

I snatched it out of her hand. “Well, you’re not seeing one now.” I slammed the door to my office before she could protest. I had no idea what to expect, and I wasn’t going to react in front of her.

I stared at the envelope for a minute before finally slitting it open with my letter opener. I extracted the flimsy yellow paper.

**Group Hug in jeopardy. Loki wants to hug only you. Please come.**

**Joss Whedon**

I sighed, rubbing my hand over my face. Joss Whedon was asking me to come save his multimillion-dollar movie, or at least Tom’s part in it. I knew when I was outclassed. It was time to do some acting of my own. I hit the intercom button.

“Julie?” I put a quaver in my tone. “Would you please find Keith and tell him I need to speak with him right away? Thank you.” I clicked off before she could ask any questions. While she did as I had asked, I mentally rehearsed my plan to obtain emergency leave. I felt rotten about sticking my colleagues with extra work, but now I felt that I didn’t have any choice. If I didn’t manage to get to Tom, at least for a week, he might damage his career. Playing Loki was his big break. I still couldn’t believe he was so fixated on me that he was risking throwing it all away, but it seemed so. Taking a leave wouldn’t hurt my career—as long as no one found out that I lied to get it. Luckily it was highly unlikely that anyone would recognise me in Cleveland.

The intercom buzzed. “Dr Martin is here, Dr Foreman.”

I came out to the reception area, the telegram in my hand. It was easy to look sad, since thinking briefly of my lost Amelia never failed to bring tears.

“I have to go to America. He needs me. He’s asking for me.” I dissolved into tears.

“Your father?” Julie helpfully asked. She knew my father had heart problems, so, as I’d hoped, she assumed I was referring to him.

Being careful not to nod or shake my head, I brought my hands to my face, crumpling the telegram and crying harder.

“Take whatever time you need,” Keith said, edging toward the hallway. He was never good with difficult social situations, and I had been counting on his wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you,” I sobbed. I immediately gathered my things and left, avoiding Julie. I felt horrible for manipulating them, but perversely proud of my acting. _Who am I becoming?_

Once safely in a taxi, I rang Luke. “All right, you win. Book me a flight.”

“How long?” He had the grace to sound surprised.

“Open-ended. You know what they say: ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’”

“Got it. I’ll call you back with the details.”  
_______

Twenty minutes later, I was pulling out my suitcase and starting to throw things in it. I had called my parents and told them that Tom and I were taking a holiday, so they wouldn’t try calling my office should I miss a mobile call. I couldn’t tell them that I’d be in America, or they’d be hurt that I wasn’t visiting them.

Luke rang. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning for New York, then it’s just a short hop to Cleveland, but we have to change airlines.”

“I get a free trip to America, and it’s to fucking Cleveland,” I joked. “Wait, did you say ‘we’?”

“Of course. How do you think you’re getting on to the set?”

“Well, since Joss has requested my presence, I didn’t think it would be much of a problem.”

“Do you even know where it is, exactly?”

“Um, no. Okay, you win. Again.”

“Come on, now, Caro. You know this isn’t for me. And is it so bad to think of travelling with me?”

“No, Luke. Of course not.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow morning. Don’t tell Tom you’re coming.”

I groaned. “Okay. I won’t. See you then.”

Tonight’s call with Tom was going to be interesting. I figured that Luke was afraid that Tom would be angry at everyone’s meddling if he heard that I was coming, but that once he saw me, he would be too happy to care. Best to surprise him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I dissed Cleveland. Sue me.


	14. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caro arrives in Cleveland, and Tom reacts.

I had barely slept at all the night before flying to Cleveland. I kept checking that I had packed everything I needed for an indefinite stay. I knew that as flustered as I was, I was likely to forget something major, like pants. Despite being sure that this was really my only course of action, I felt terrible for lying to everyone: my colleagues, my friends, my parents, even Tom, since I had lied to him by omission, neglecting to tell him that I was leaving in the morning to see him. Only Luke knew what I was planning. I didn’t know whether Luke had notified Joss that we were coming or whether we were going to surprise everyone, but I decided that it wasn’t really my problem. Joss wanted me to come, so if the timing was bad, he could just suck it up. I was turning my life upside down; I couldn’t afford to worry about anyone else’s sensibilities.

I made the most of the eight-hour flight by finishing a shawl for a commission. It wasn’t due until Christmas, but at least it would be out of the way. Luke and I chatted a bit, but mostly kept our headphones on. I wasn’t feeling very talkative. I was a bit worried about the reception I would get. Would Tom be angry that people thought he was allowing his personal life to interfere with his performance, or would he be pleased by the surprise?

Thankfully, we caught our connection without difficulty. It was only about 90 minutes’ flight time to Cleveland, but we still had to collect our luggage and get to the set. Luke said we would drop by Tom’s place first and drop off my things; he would stay in a hotel. He didn’t reveal how he had access to Tom’s rented house, but again, it wasn’t my problem.

When I turned my mobile back on after landing, I had a text message.

\-- Just touching base. Have you thought about it? - Chris Hemsworth

Without checking whether it was okay with Luke, I texted back.

\-- On my way. If you tell him, I will deck you, even if I have to use a stepladder. - Caro

A few minutes later, I received his reply.

\-- Excellent. I believe you. - Chris

At quarter to six, Luke let us into the house the production company had rented for Tom. It was strange to be sneaking in, quiet as a cat. Despite the fact that Tom had been living here for weeks, there was little of his personality to be seen.

“I’m just going to pop in and use the loo. Then I’ll check in to my hotel and come back to fetch you and take you to the set. They’re set to film until nine. You should have time to freshen up and change before I get back. All right?”

I nodded, and he headed for the bathroom. I noticed Tom’s laptop open on the coffee table. There was a USB flash drive sticking out of the side of the computer, and I recognised the drive on which he had placed the pictures from our racy photo session. Curious to see what he’d last been looking at, I jiggled the mouse to bring the computer out of sleep mode. There was no password protection, and I was presented with a photo of myself. I had expected one of the more explicit photos, but instead I saw just my face, laughing. _He really does miss me._ I heard the toilet flush, and put the computer back in sleep mode, stepping away to contemplate the dishes in the sink by the time Luke came back into the living area.

“See you in about forty-five minutes!” he chirped as he hurried out the door.

While he was gone, I showered, dressed, and made up my face. I decided that unpacking was assuming too much. What if Tom, faced with the enormity of what I had done to come to him, insisted that I return to work? What if he was so angry that everyone thought he needed me that he sent me away?

I texted Chris just before I expected Luke to arrive.

\-- About to head to the set. How is he? - Caro

I was in the car when I got the reply.

\-- Angry. Just come. - Chris

________

Luke got us cleared through to the set, and we pulled up as close as the car was allowed. As we walked toward the action (hundreds of people were kneeling in an open square, with Tom, dressed in Loki’s armour, standing amongst them), the heads of off-camera crew began to turn towards us. They each seemed ready to warn us off, but then saw Luke and smiled instead. Many of them looked puzzled at the sight of me. We walked right up to a knot of people behind the main camera installation, and as they turned, I saw Chris Evans in costume as Captain America, Chris Hemsworth, Robert Downey, Jr, Mark Ruffalo, a boy of about ten, and Joss Whedon. Most of them froze and stared at us as we came up to them; Hemsworth grinned. The action continued in front of the camera. Joss tilted his head at me and raised his eyebrows at Luke, who nodded.

“Cut!” I wasn’t expecting such a loud voice from such a mild-looking man. A moan of disappointment came from the crowd of extras, who were undoubtedly getting uncomfortable kneeling on the pavement.

“What now?” I wasn’t used to hearing Tom sound so peevish. “There was nothing wrong with that take!” He stormed over, still appearing to be Loki in his anger and full costume, brandishing the sceptre. “I demand to know—” As he stepped past the edge of the lights, he finally saw me, and practically skidded to a halt, his mouth hanging open.

“I heard you needed me,” I said, my soft words carrying in the sudden silence.

Tom frowned as he took in the scene before him: Luke at my elbow, the cast members staring, Joss studiously avoiding his gaze. Shoving the sceptre into Robert’s hands, Tom closed the distance between us. Without a word, he wove the fingers of one hand into my hair and pulled me to him with the other, kissing me as though his life depended on it as I melted into him.

“Dad, why is Loki kissing that woman?”

“That’s it for tonight, folks. Go home.”

“Tom, not here,” Luke warned.

“Dude, at least take her to your trailer.” I thought that was Chris Evans, based on Tom’s impressions of him.

I heard the excited hubbub of the crowd on the other side of the camera. I knew they would be curious about what was going on, but at that moment, I really didn’t care.

Tom took his lips from mine to whisper harshly, “My trailer, now.” I nodded and let him lead me away.

“Mr Hiddleston! Your costume!” A female voice, verging on hysteria, cut through the hubbub behind us as Tom pulled me away from the set. He ignored it. I heard someone running, and looked back to see Chris Hemsworth bearing down on us like freight train.

“Tom!” He shouted, and Tom finally stopped and turned around. “At least give me the helmet, Tom. It won’t fit in your trailer anyway.” He winked, and Tom smiled.

“Right you are, mate,” he said, sliding the helmet off and revealing Loki’s greasy dark hair, matted down with sweat. He handed the helmet to Chris, and seemed to realise suddenly that he hadn’t introduced me to anyone. His innate politeness kicked in. “You must have figured out that this is Caro.” He put an arm around me. “Caro, this is Chris Hemsworth. He’s Thor.”

“No, really?” I gave him an elbow in the ribs, which only earned me a scratched elbow since he was wearing Loki’s armour. I offered Chris a hand, and he shook it.

“Nice to finally meet you, Caro. Tom’s told us all a lot about you.”

“All good, I hope,” I said, craning my neck to look up at him. _Damn, he’s huge. I really would need a stepladder to hit him._

“Of course.” He dropped my hand and looked at Tom. “Go on. I’ll make your excuses.”

Tom grinned. “Thanks, man. I owe you.” Arm slaps and man-hugs ensued, and then Tom was dragging me off again, walking so fast with his long legs that I had to trot to keep up.

We arrived at the trailers, all identical, arranged in rows. Tom herded me up the steps of one, reaching around me to unlock the door. I stumbled in, turning as he slammed the door shut behind him and flipped on the light. His face was intent, his eyes fixed on me. He still looked like Loki, menacing and powerful. His head almost brushed the ceiling, and I saw that Chris has been right: the helmet wouldn’t have fit in here. I knew that Tom had probably been in that heavy costume all day, and his stringy hair attested to the amount of sweating he’d been doing. I found that I didn’t care about that—all I wanted was to feel his skin.

“What are you doing here? Why now? Why is Luke here? Who knew you were coming? Why didn’t you tell me?” He was furious, his face contorted, livid, shouting. He took a step toward me and grabbed my shoulders. I flinched, afraid for a split second that he was about to shake me. Suddenly his mouth was on mine, his questions seemingly forgotten, replaced by the physical need born of weeks spent apart. He kissed me as though he wanted to climb inside me, merge the two of us together to become one person.

He finally paused for breath, studying my face as though some secret was hidden there. I stood mute, shocked into silence by his erratic behaviour. Finally, he smiled.

“Unruly mortal,” he purred in Loki’s voice. “I _will_ rule you.”

Surprising both of us, I advanced on him, pushing him back against the door and tearing at the buckles and straps. Tom grabbed my hands, stilling them. I looked at him, wild-eyed.

“What are you doing, love? Don’t you want Loki?” Tom looked genuinely confused.

“I want your skin. I want _you._ ” I tried to pull free, but he held my wrists easily. He kissed me, gently, lovingly. As I relaxed into him, he let go of my hands and wrapped his arms around me. Lifting me up, he carried me across the small space to the sofa, placing me down gently. Then he stood and started unfastening the various pieces of the costume, tossing the boots and various pieces of armour in random directions.

“I’m filthy, you know, and covered in makeup,” he said conversationally as I watched the leather and metal come away. “I stink. I should shower first.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to wait for that. Besides, ‘I like how you stink.’” My French accent was terrible, but he laughed anyway. (see note)

Finally down to his boxers, Tom stopped and stared down at me. “You, my love, are overdressed.”

I smiled. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed and the Loki smirk crept onto his face. “I’m going to give you ten seconds to get naked before I rip that dress right off you. Ten, nine…”

As he counted inexorably down, I leapt up and pulled the sundress off over my head. I got the bra off before he said, “One.” We stood there, staring at each other, both of us in just our pants. He shivered as the sweat dried on his skin.

Reaching out one hand, Tom cradled my face. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.” He closed the distance between us slowly, only shutting his eyes at the last second as he kissed me, as if he were afraid I would disappear.

The kiss heated up, a transition from love and longing to pure lust. Tom’s hands slid down my body, his thumbs sliding over my nipples and making me moan into his mouth. His hands ended up cradling my arse under my panties. Pulling me to him, he dumped us both onto the couch. Frantic with need, we somehow managed to free each other of our last remaining clothing to press together, wanting as much skin contact as possible. I didn’t mind the smell of his sweat that enveloped me as he covered me with his body. I wanted to drink him in, drown in him, make him a part of me.

Tom’s mouth moved to my neck, nipping, sucking, licking. I gasped as I felt his teeth dig in just above my collarbone, and he sucked hard. “You’re not going to work, darling. Let me mark you.” His eyes blazed, willing me to agree to what he’d already done. I nodded, not caring about it now that I was here. I had lied to everyone else who mattered to me for him; what was a love bite to that?

He grinned, and it was Loki’s evil face that hovered over me. He fell on me, his hands and mouth everywhere, teasing, pinching, driving me into a frenzy. His mouth left more marks on my shoulders and breasts before he moved lower, kissing my belly, my hips, brushing his fingers up my inner thighs. Moaning, I opened my legs to him.

“Did you miss me, then, darling?” Tom gazed up the length of my body, taunting me. “Were you lonely in my bed, without me?”

“God, yes!” I moaned, clutching the armrest above my head as he stroked a finger idly between my legs. As he slid the finger inside me, he dragged his tongue slowly upwards, ending at my clit. Still watching my face, he made lazy circles with his tongue. “More, please!” I begged.

Tom raised his face, making my hips strain upward towards him. He added a second finger to the one pressing inside me as he said, “You want more?” When I nodded, he instructed, “Put your feet on my shoulders.”

Tom bent back down, his shoulders pushing my legs far apart, my knees towards my ears. I was completely open to him, and he returned to licking me, tasting and devouring me. Soon, he was moaning as much as I was, and he had to grip my hips to prevent being thrown off by my bucking. Finally, he sucked gently on my clit while at the same time running his tongue hard and fast over it, relentlessly fucking me with three fingers. I came so hard I saw stars, screaming his name, not caring who might overhear me outside the trailer.

When I had finished, Tom wiped his mouth on my inner thigh and smiled. “So I haven’t lost my touch?” he joked with another smirk.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” I responded, gratified to see one eyebrow shoot up in surprise.

“Well, then,” he replied, and unceremoniously flipped me over, dragging my legs off the couch and kneeling behind me. He entered me all at once, his hands sliding up my body to pin both wrists out to the side. My head was pushed into the sofa cushions with every thrust of his hips. He pulled almost all the way out of me each time, slamming against me with enough force to bring my knees off the floor and a gasp from my lips. His body covered mine, and he whispered a litany of dirty, sexy words in my ear.

“Is this what you wanted, darling? You want me to fuck you? You want my cock pounding into you? Well, take it. Take it all. I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name. You are mine. All mine.” He continued on, his filthy diatribe punctuated by the slap of his hips against my arse. He filled me, surrounded me, took over all my senses. All too soon, he lost the rhythm, signalling that he was about to come, and his words gave way to a low moan against my throat as he pressed himself into me, his cock pulsing. When his orgasm ended, he sighed, relaxing all at once and holding me to him, kissing the side of my face.

“Thank you, darling. Thank you for not making me wait.”

I laughed. “As if _I_ wanted to wait?” I wiggled underneath him. “Can we get up?”

“Oh! Sorry.” He backed away and slid out of me with a grunt. I pushed up and turned around, sitting on the couch. I looked down and laughed.

“I’m looking a bit plaid,” I said, indicating the pattern embossed on my skin from being pressed into the couch.

Tom grinned and shuffled forward on his knees, embracing me. “You’re looking a bit wonderful, I’d say.” He kissed me again. “I still can’t believe that you’re really here. How? Why now?”

I didn’t know how much to tell him. “I missed you,” I said simply. “I couldn’t stand not knowing how much longer it would be.”

He sat back on his heels, regarding me. “There’s something else.” It wasn’t a question.

I sighed. “Luke was getting phone calls from some of the cast, saying that you were getting a little…grumpy. They were worried that the extras would damage your reputation for being nice to your fans.” I figured that was a safer thing to report than that they also thought his performance was suffering. “They thought that you’d be more pleasant to be around if I came for a visit.”

“You told me you couldn’t get away.” He was suspicious; I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

I figured the truth was just fine here. “I lied to Keith, and let him think that my father was ill.” I looked him in the eye, willed him to understand. “I lied for you, for us. You’d better damn well appreciate it.”

He nodded, processing the information. “I do appreciate it, darling. How long can you stay?”

“I don’t really know. I left it open-ended. A couple of weeks, maybe? I feel dreadful about all the work the others have to do because I’m not there. I may have to give back some of my holiday time. I don’t know. I didn’t hammer out any of the details before I left.”

“Well, we’d better make the most of it then. Come on, let’s go back to my place. I really need a shower.” He stood and offered me his hand.

I let him help me up. “Fucking right you do. You _do_ stink!”

I realised that I had really, really missed his laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is from the movie “Pulp Fiction.”


	15. Explanations

“You didn’t unpack?” Tom stood in the doorway of the bedroom, nude, towel in hand.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to stay,” I admitted, sitting on the bed. He looked confused. “I didn’t know whether you’d be angry that I didn’t tell you was coming. I let you be miserable for an extra night, I guess.” That didn’t sound very good. “So I could surprise you,” I added hastily.

Tom picked up on a different part of my confession than I’d expected though. “Only one extra night? You only decided to fly out here yesterday? Why?”

Uh oh. “Well, Luke worked on convincing me for a few days. I guess he finally got to me, is all. Yesterday I told him to go ahead and make the arrangements, and he told me our flight was this morning. I didn’t expect him to come too, but it made sense since I didn’t really know where I was going, and no one here knows who I am.” 

Tom nodded, thinking. “I wonder why Luke was so keen to get you out here now,” he mused, half to himself. “I brought up the idea in June and he told me he thought it would be too distracting for me to have you here.”

Despite having just had sex with him twenty minutes ago, seeing him stand in the doorway naked was pretty distracting. I tried to focus on his face. “Like I said, he heard you were pretty sad. I guess you haven’t been hanging out with the rest of the cast the way you used to?” I was gambling there, but I thought it was a safe assumption to make.

He nodded slowly. “I guess I have been a bit of a spoilsport lately.” He took a deep breath in and let it out, slowly. I watched his lightly muscled chest rise and fall and felt warmth between my legs.

“If you don’t get in the shower right now, I’m going to have to escort you there myself, young man.” Distraction is a game two can play. I stood and started stalking towards him. He grinned and held his ground, but his hardening cock belied his nonchalance.

“You and whose army?” I stood in front of him now, in his personal space, of course having to look up to meet his eyes. His cock twitched, betraying his interest. “I have an army.”

I looked at him quizzically, and he looked sheepish. “It’s one of my lines in the film. I forgot; you haven’t heard it yet.” He pulled me to him suddenly, kissed me fiercely. “Please, escort me to the shower. I can’t tear myself away from you to go alone.”

“Yes, Tom,” I answered breathlessly. I stepped back and stripped my clothes off. “Towel?”

Tom shook his head, as if coming to. “God, I missed you, Caro. I have the photos, but you’re so beautiful.” He looked at me with hungry eyes. “Don’t expect to make it through this shower unmolested.” His cock stood at attention by now, and his chest and cheeks were flushed.

“I’d be upset if I did,” I answered, wrapping my hand around his cock and leading him into the bathroom. “But we’re getting in right now. You still stink.”

He grinned, and reached to turn on the shower. “Yes, Mistress,” he said, laughing.

The shower stall was small, only meant for one. We giggled as we manoeuvred around each other, wet skin sliding on wet skin, stepping on each other’s feet and jockeying for the soap.

“Why don’t you let me wash you?” I suggested after the second time I caught his elbow just before it could knock me in the head.

“Can you reach?” he teased, then knelt on the floor of the shower to let me wash his hair.

“So, you’ll keep the extensions in the whole shoot?” His hair was a lot longer than usual, in addition to its altered texture and colour.

“Yeah, it’s easier than redoing them all the time. I can’t wait to get my own hair back.” He took advantage of his position to draw one of my breasts to his mouth, sucking on the nipple as he fondled one breast with each hand. I gasped and froze, my soapy hands in his hair, my eyelids fluttering at the sensation. “I did warn you,” he murmured as he moved to the other breast. His light eyes flicked up to watch my face as I moaned his name.

As he continued nuzzling my breasts, his right hand reached out to find the bar of soap that had landed on the floor during our silly game of ‘keep away’ earlier. Lathering up both hands, he slid them between my legs, one in front, the other behind. His slick and nimble fingers felt incredible as they teased and tweaked me, one long finger slipping inside me to curl and probe, making me shudder. I clung to his shoulders to remain upright, my nails digging in as he found a particularly sensitive spot and pressed his advantage.

Tom’s other hand, the one behind me, was busy as well. After initially fondling my ass, he dipped his index finger in between my cheeks to trace a line from the bottom of my slit, over my asshole and back again. Emboldened by my moans, Tom concentrated more attention there, circling about with his soap-slicked fingertip. With his other hand, he flicked his thumb across my clit, two fingers buried deep inside me. I was up on my toes, off-balance, clinging to him for support.

“You like that? Do you?” Tom’s voice was challenging, taunting. “Tell me.”

“Yes, Tom.” My voice shook from the effort of remaining upright under the barrage of sensation he was producing. We had never engaged in any type of anal play before; I hadn’t thought I was interested. Tom’s gentle exploration felt strange and exciting at the same time.

“I want you to come for me. Come for me, Caro.” He sucked on the soft skin of my breast, leaving another love bite as his hands sped up, driving me over the edge. I lost my footing, clinging to Tom’s shoulders, wailing, my body wracked with pleasure. As I recovered, I realized that Tom had actually inserted his finger into my asshole while I was coming; now it was uncomfortable.

“Tom,” I said weakly. “I don’t…could you…” I wriggled in his grasp, but was pinned in place, unable to raise myself high enough to disengage from his hands.

“What’s the matter, darling?” He continued to kiss whatever skin presented itself to him, his tongue as languorous as his hands, which still impaled me.

“Your finger is in my ass, that’s what’s the matter!” I said hotly as I managed to push back enough to force him to look at me.

He took his hands away, making me sway as I found my balance, and held them up in surrender. “You seemed to like it at the time,” he observed. Frowning, he leaned his head back and rinsed the remaining lather from his hair. When he had finished, he stood, fixing me with his gaze, still frowning. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time you liked something I did that you thought was outside your comfort zone.” He planted his feet, wide, and slid down the wall enough to bring our eyes level, then pulled me to him. “You like it when I push your boundaries,” he hissed in my ear. “You love it. You think you know yourself, but you’re wrong. You’ve never admitted to yourself how dirty you like it. You give up control to me so you can pretend I made you act like a whore. But it’s all you, Caro. You love every minute of it.”

He pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees on the shower floor. “Now show me, Caro. Show me how much you love my cock.”

My mind was reeling from what he’d said, how much of it struck home. My sex life before Tom had been what I thought of as fairly standard, even scandalous to some: several medium-to-long-term monogamous relationships, including my marriage, a few one-night stands I wasn’t proud of, a friend-with-benefits. The sex itself was pretty mainstream, though nothing was wrong with that. I wasn’t into pain; I hadn’t thought I had any kinks, until Tom. We had been playing a control game with sex since before we even made it to bed; sometimes it spilled out of the bedroom. He had pulled me into role-playing, bondage, and exhibitionism, all without discussion beforehand. Was this really any different? 

Putting my thoughts aside, I turned my attention to Tom’s magnificent cock, standing at attention in front of my face. Lathering my hands well, I started soaping him up, being sure to get into every fold and crevice, running one hand between the cheeks of his ass. He moaned in appreciation as my slick hands moved up and down his shaft, my thumb sliding over the head.

“I think you’re clean now,” I said, and ducked out of the way of the water spray, letting it run down his body, rinsing the soap away. Returning to kneel in front of him, I looked up, past his toned abs and chest, to see him watching me. I had expected to see lust and anticipation; the look of total adoration on his face took my breath away, not least because he had just spoken to me so harshly.

I smiled as I wrapped one hand around his shaft again, and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath as his eyes fluttered closed. As I took the head of his cock into my mouth, he moaned and let his head fall back against the tile with a thud. The water beat on my back as I started to suck in earnest, taking a little more of him into my mouth with each stroke. I kept control of his cock with my right hand at its base; the other was free to explore his balls, his thighs, and his fine, firm ass, which was definitely even more toned than when he’d last left England. As always, the more excited Tom got, the more turned on I got. I still never took for granted that this man, this amazing man, wanted only me.

I had worked my way down to the bottom of his shaft, my throat relaxed to take him in, my hand controlling the depth to avoid gagging myself. Tom was groaning, clutching at the tile, at my hair. “God, Caro, that’s so good,” he said, his voice low, his hips moving in an undulating dance against the tile wall. “I love fucking your mouth. You are so fucking good. Fuck, Caro, I, I’m, I, fuck!” He came, flooding my mouth, hot and bitter. He slid down the wall, his knees folding, making him look a bit like a stick insect as he settled on the floor of the shower, his legs bent in half. His eyes were glazed, and he gave me a goofy, contented grin.

“So,” I ventured. “Could you tell how much I love your cock?” 

He nodded, still smiling, his face almost beatific.

“We’re starting to run out of hot water. We’d better get out.” He nodded again and clambered reluctantly up from the floor.

Dried off, teeth brushed, and spooning with me in bed, Tom yawned. “I haven’t been sleeping very well,” he admitted.

“Why not?” I asked. “You usually sleep like the dead.”

He buried his face in my neck, breathing me in. He exhaled, his breath warm against my shoulder. “You know I went to boarding school, starting when I was thirteen. My parents were divorcing, and I felt very alone. I missed them; I missed my sisters. Everything was different. But you can’t go crying that you’re lonely at school, can you? I put on a game face during the day, but I had nightmares. I dreamt that I woke up in my bed at home, only no one was there. It was silent as a tomb, dust on everything, cobwebs, as though I had been asleep for a hundred years. I’d wander around and never find anyone. I’d wake up in the dormitory, surrounded by the other boys, feeling utterly alone. I didn’t dare cry: what if someone heard me? I’d never live it down. The dreams got a bit better after I started doing theatre. I had an outlet for my sadness and anger there. The dreams had disappeared completely by the time I left Eton.” He stopped to kiss my shoulder. “The night before I shouted at you for having lunch with that young doctor you were mentoring, I had that dream again. I hadn’t had that dream in twelve years.”

I twisted around to face him. His face was desolate. I cupped his cheek in my hand.

“All it took was two weeks away from you,” he said softly. “Do you understand how much I need you? Why I get so…”

“Possessive?” I offered.

“I was going to say ‘crazy,’ but yeah, I guess ‘possessive’ works too.” He ran a hand down my side. “The thought of you ever leaving me, ever being with someone else crushes my soul.” His eyes were intense, seeming to shine in the reflected light of the bedside lamp. “How can I ever be content, Caro? How can I know that you’ll stay mine?” His hand tightened in my hair. “My marks fade, you meet new people every day. How can I know, Caro?”

He was starting to scare me. He had started out sounding so vulnerable, but now he was needy, demanding, pulling my hair harder than he knew, I was certain. “Tom! You’re hurting me!” I reached up to tug on his hand.

He let go, hiding his face in his hands. “I’m sorry! God, I’m sorry! Why do I do that? What’s happening to me?” His shoulders jerked and I realized he was crying.

“Tom? Tom, it’s okay. I’m fine.” I petted his hair, feeling confused and out of my depth. “Tom, look at me. Please?”

He slowly lowered his hands, showing me his red-rimmed eyes and the tears streaking his blotchy cheeks. He sniffed as he tried to stop crying. He looked completely miserable.

“I…Caro, I…” It took him several tries before he could form a sentence. “I don’t know why I get like this with you. I’ve never been like this with a girlfriend before. Needing reassurance. Needing to possess. Maybe I’ve never really been in love before.” Tentatively, he brought one hand back to my face, smiling slightly when I didn’t flinch. “I love you, Caro. I need you. I need to know you’ll always be mine.”

I leaned toward him, kissing him gently on the lips. I rested my forehead on his. “I love you. Sometimes you scare me with how intense you are. I don’t know what to say or do to make you stop questioning my devotion to you. I’m yours, Tom. I can’t put it any plainer.”

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer and throwing his leg over mine. I was cocooned in his embrace, held by his impossibly long limbs. “Keep telling me. Keep telling me, every day. I promise, you’ll never have reason to doubt that I love you.” He kissed me slowly, gently, his tongue tentatively probing my bottom lip until I encouraged him, pulling his face towards mine and sucking on his tongue. He took back control of the kiss, sighing into my mouth. I relaxed and let him take over. Tentative Tom made me nervous; he wasn’t himself when he wasn’t in control.

Tom leaned his head back enough to focus on my face. “You’ve had a very long day, haven’t you? You must be exhausted. Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow I want to show you everything, introduce you to everyone. Okay?”

“Okay.” Now that he mentioned it, fatigue came crashing down on me as though summoned by his words. I snuggled my head into the hollow of his shoulder as he shifted onto his back. I felt him kiss the top of my head as I drifted off to sleep.


	16. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom, Caro, and some of the Avengers cast hit a local club...but Tom has a little extra fun planned for Caro.

“I know you’re probably still a little jet lagged, but do you think you’d be up to going out this evening?” Tom was done filming a bit early; the takes had gone much faster than Joss had anticipated. At lunch, Chris Hemsworth had muttered something to me about how much time they could have saved if I had been there the whole shoot. I had just rolled my eyes.

“It’s Tuesday night, in Cleveland. What is there to do?” It was about eight, and we were in Tom’s trailer so he could shower and change before leaving the lot.

“I thought we’d go dancing. The clubs shouldn’t be too crowded. Most of the cast is going.” Mark was staying in with his family. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Whatever you want to do, Tom.” I was there to cheer him up; if he wanted to dance, I’d dance.

He beamed. “You’re so good to me.” Freshly showered, his hair still damp, and wearing only his boxers, he grabbed me and started dancing around the small space, singing The Cure’s “Friday, I’m in Love” at the top of his lungs. I held on for dear life and laughed as he swung me around.

There was a knock at the door. “Are you two coming out?” Chris Hemsworth’s voice carried easily through the wall of the trailer. I looked down at my clothes, blue jeans and a short-sleeved blouse. Tom had told me to dress casually for my day hanging around the set. I had actually spent a good deal of time in his air-conditioned trailer, catching up on work emails (including a few asking after my father’s health, which made me cringe) and taking a nap.

Tom hurriedly pulled on his trousers and opened the door. “I think Caro wants to stop back at the house to change. We’ll meet you at the club, okay, man?”

“Sure, mate. If you don’t show up by ten, I’m calling you. Everyone wants to get to know Caro. No fair keeping her holed up at your place.” He winked at me. “I think Scarlett wants to see how well she can hold her liquor.”

I came up behind Tom and slid under his arm. “I’ll concede that one right now. I’m a lightweight. Two drinks and I’m done.”

Tom nodded, giving me a squeeze. “It’s true, I’m afraid. She’s a cheap date.”

Chris rolled his eyes at the mock outrage and equally mock apology that ensued. “You’ll be there by ten, right?” We agreed, and he headed off.

Back at Tom’s house, I laid out an outfit and hopped in the shower. It was about nine when I came out of the bathroom to find Tom waiting for me, a square black box nestled in his palm.

“I got you something…I didn’t think we’d get to use it until I got home, but now that you’re here…” He trailed off, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He offered up the box, his face full of anticipation.

“You want me to open this before I get dressed?” I asked as I took the box from his hand, my towel clamped under my arms.

He nodded. “You’ll see.” He was excited, unable to keep still.

I lifted the lid. Inside the box were two objects: a fat disc, about five centimetres across, and what looked like a small set of tongs, about eight centimetres long. Both objects were metallic gold plastic and matte dark pink silicone. I looked back at Tom.

“I don’t understand. What is this?”

Without breaking eye contact, Tom reached into the box and picked up the disc. Suddenly the tongs started to vibrate, almost silently. My eyes widened. “Oh.”

Tom smiled in a predatory way as he switched off the vibrator. “I want you to wear this tonight, while we’re out dancing. The remote works up to twelve metres away. You’ll have to act normally: talk with my friends, dance, drink.” His eyes smouldered as he spoke. “Only I will know, Caro. How delicious is that?”

I could feel myself getting wet thinking about it. _By the time we get home, I’ll be ready to explode. And so will he._ I really hoped I didn’t make a fool out of myself in front of Tom’s friends, but the promise of the incredible sex we would have when we finally got back here was too much to pass up.

I licked my lips. “Would you like to put it in for me?”

He reddened, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in. Opening his eyes again, he smiled. “Yes. Yes, I would.” He reached out and tugged on the edge of my towel, and I let it drop to the floor. Tom took the box from my hand, took the vibrator out, and set the box aside. He held out his hand, and I took it. Swinging me about, he laid me back on the bed.

“Do you think you’ll need any lubricant, darling?” I gasped as he gently inserted a finger. “No, I think not.” He grinned again, his _I know you want me_ smile. “You like this idea, don’t you, you naughty girl.” He leaned down and licked me, just once. He grinned at my reaction. Inserting a second finger briefly, he brought his hand out to coat the thinner side of the vibrator with my wetness. Carefully, watching me, he inserted the vibrator as far as it would go, then gently nestled the other end against my clit. “Comfy, darling?”

I nodded, experimentally squeezing it. It stayed in place. Suddenly it began to vibrate, gently and silently. My eyes widened, but I made no sound.

“Very good. How does it feel?” He moved his hand and the vibration increased slightly.

“G-g-good,” I managed, sitting up. “How many speeds does this thing have?”

“Oh, a few, and some different patterns. How’s this?” He tilted his hand again and the vibrations took on a repeating pattern.

I moaned. “I’m s-s-supposed to act normal while you d-d-d-o this?” I couldn’t sit still; my hips needed to move. I stood up and embraced him, pulling his face down for a kiss, grinding my hips into his leg.

“Now, darling,” he teased. “We promised we’d meet everyone at the club at ten. No time for that now.” He did something else to the remote, and the vibrations stopped. “Go on, get dressed.”

I pouted, making him laugh. “Just think how wonderful you’re going to feel the rest of the night. And no one will know except for me and you.”

________

 

We arrived at The Velvet Dog just before ten. Tom texted Chris to find out where in the multi-storey club to find the group. They had secured a booth on the ground floor, in the back of the club, and promised to have drinks waiting for us by the time we threaded our way there.

Tom had left the vibrator off on the cab ride over, and it was still quiet now, as we made our way through the crowd and past the dance floor. If I had been worried that someone would hear the little toy in action, I wasn’t now, as the noise level in the club was almost painful. It was more crowded than I had expected for a Tuesday night, and pretty dimly lit.

We were the last of the group to arrive: the Chrises, Scarlett, Robert, Jeremy, Clark, and Cobie were squeezed into the booth, half-full glasses raised to greet us. Tom introduced me to the cast members I hadn’t already met, and Scarlett insisted on squeezing me in between Cobie and her.

“Go sit with the boys, Tom. It’s girl-talk time.”

As soon as I sat down and picked up my gin and tonic, the vibrations started. I was determined not to let him see how it affected me, and of course I needed to conceal the vibrator’s presence from everyone else. I sipped my drink whilst attempting to school my face into polite interest as Cobie and Scarlett regaled me with funny stories from the set. How was Tom going to play this? Did he really want to keep our game a secret, or was he going to embarrass me by demonstrating his control over me? Just as I started to squirm a little in my seat, the vibrations stopped.

Tom was sliding out of the booth, asking for drink orders for the next round. He leant over the table to give me a kiss. “How are you doing, darling?” he whispered with a smirk.

“Fine,” I answered with a wink. “Scarlett was just telling me some stories about filming.”

“I hope you’ll be up for some dancing soon,” he said as he straightened up. “I aim to have some fun.” He headed for the bar.

Scarlett grinned. “He wants some fun, huh? Let’s show him fun.” She slid out of the booth and grabbed my hand. “Dance with me. Come on, Cobie. Let’s make a Caro sandwich.”

I grinned. I didn’t think there was a straight man alive who wouldn’t get turned on by Scarlett shaking her booty on the dance floor, and Cobie was gorgeous too. I didn’t care what any man there except Tom thought of me, but I thought he’d like it. I let Scarlett lead me out to the middle of the dance floor.

Rhianna’s “S&M” started blasting. I let Scarlett take the lead. I wasn’t anywhere near the best dancer on the floor, but I was no slouch. I was only vaguely aware of the vibrator, snug inside my panties, until it started humming against my clit. Just then, Scarlett pulled me to her and started grinding against me. I was afraid she’d feel the vibrator pulsating, but she didn’t stay in contact long enough to register it. Cobie came up behind me and completed the ‘Caro sandwich.’ I was in a position I was sure many people would kick orphans to be in, but all I could think of was concealing the fact that I was wearing a sex toy that was controlled by my boyfriend.

The beat continued with “Judas.” The men joined us on the dance floor, and Tom peeled Scarlett off me, holding me close. “Very sexy, darling. Every man in the club has a boner now.” His low voice cut through the music.

 _“Every_ man?” I asked, brushing a hand across the front of his trousers, confirming his arousal. He closed his eyes in response, his head dropping back. Regaining control in an instant, he flicked his wrist twice, and the vibrations got stronger between my legs. I gasped, and would have fallen had Tom not been holding me upright.

“Remember who’s in control here,” he rumbled in my ear. All I could manage was a nod. The rest of my concentration was on remaining vertical, not looking like I was having a seizure, and not coming.

“Tom.” I was horrified that it came out as a whine. “Tom, turn it down, please.” I knew no one else would hear me over the pounding music.

He smirked. “No.” Grabbing my hand, he dragged me quickly back to the table, lifting me onto it and standing between my legs. As he kissed me, he pressed the vibrator between us with his hips. I thought of how uncouth and tacky this public display was, and squirmed. Tom growled and turned the vibrator up another level.

I lost all thoughts of propriety as the climax hit me. I squealed into Tom’s mouth as he continued to kiss me hungrily. The vibrator slowed down and stopped. Tom kept kissing me as I slowly relaxed in his arms.

Suddenly, a hand landed on Tom’s shoulder. “Dude, I know Hemsworth told you that you had to come out, but if you really can’t keep your hands off each other, go home.” Chris Evans looked uncomfortable but stood his ground.

As Tom turned to face Chris, I slid off the table and hurried to the bathroom. I knew my panties were soaked, and now the vibrator felt strange there, a lump of inert plastic and silicone. I heard Tom call after me, but I pretended not to hear him over the noise of the club.

Gaining the safety of the ladies’ room, I locked myself into a stall. After taking a moment to slow my breathing, I took the vibrator out so that I could pee, setting it on a pad of toilet paper to keep it from touching any surfaces. I knew I would have to put it back in; Tom wanted me to wear it. Besides, I had left my purse at the table, and I had no pockets. 

“Caro? Are you okay?” I didn’t know whether Tom had sent Scarlett in after me, or whether she had come on her own.

“Yeah, I just had to pee. Why?” I flushed, popped the vibrator back into place, and pulled up my panties. Opening the stall door, I found Scarlett leaning into the mirror, checking her lipstick.

“It just thought you might have been upset, that’s all.” She met my eyes in the mirror. “Is Tom treating you okay?”

“Tom treats me like a queen,” I said, washing my hands. “I’ve never felt more loved in my life.”

She smiled. “Just checking. ‘Cause he sure can be Mr Bossy-pants.”

I tried to hold in my laughter, but only wound up snorting out my nose. We walked out of the restroom together, arms around each other’s waists, laughing.

Tom was waiting at the table, and his worried frown changed into a relieved smile when he saw us. One look at him set us off again into gales of laughter.

“What’s so amusing, ladies?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Uh-uh, Tom. Girl talk.” Scarlett put her mouth by my ear, blocking Tom’s view with one hand. “Do not tell him I called him ‘Mr Bossy-pants’!” she hissed.

I grinned. “You can count on me, sister.” _Let him wonder._

“Another round?” Tom asked as everyone came back to the table. The DJ was taking a break, and it was easier to hear now. “I’m celebrating tonight.” Tom slid an arm around me. “I finally get to introduce you all to my Caro. And you can celebrate because now I’ll stop banging on about her! I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit difficult lately. I didn’t mean to be. You’ve all been incredibly nice about it.”

Everyone hastened to assure Tom that he hadn’t been difficult at all, until Chris Hemsworth said, “Honestly, mate? I was about to kill you. Caro, thank you for finding a way to be here. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

I smiled uneasily, not sure how Tom was going to react to Chris’s acknowledgement of the elephant in the room. After a silent beat, Tom laughed, his body bowing back as his typical “ehehehehe” bubbled out of him. “You know, I don’t think I would have blamed you. I was a complete tit.”

The next hour went by, full of chatter, drinks, and dancing. The vibrator stayed silent between my thighs, almost forgotten. Every so often, Tom would catch my eye with a knowing look, hunger naked on his face. Then he’d flick his attention back to whoever was speaking, instantly animated and engaged.

I was telling Clark and Jeremy how Tom and I met when the vibrator suddenly purred to life again. I glanced over at Tom, but he was talking animatedly with the Chrises, and not looking my way. On its lowest setting, the vibrations actually felt soothing, and I easily finished my story. Scarlett ordered Jeremy to move over and make room for her next to me.

She leaned over and whispered in my ear. “What’s that thing Tom’s got in his hand? He won’t let me see it.”

I looked up to find Tom staring at me, a slight hint of menace in his gaze. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

“I have no idea,” I answered, hoping I sounded convincing. “What thing?”

Scarlett gave me a look that clearly said that she didn’t believe me.

Tom gestured me over. “Excuse me, will you? I have to speak with Himself.” I grinned, and Scarlett smiled back, letting it go.

Chris Hemsworth got up to let me slide in between him and Tom. _Here’s another enviable position._ Chris was classically handsome, shockingly tall, and built like, well, Thor. I found him attractive in that I wouldn’t have minded having a statue of him around to look at, but he was blonder and more muscular than I generally favoured. He was also very, very married. I sensed no sexual interest from him whatsoever, which suited me just fine. I had all the sexual interest I could handle on the other side of me, fiddling with the secret remote control in his jacket pocket. Tom squeezed my shoulders in a sideways hug as the vibrator’s speed notched up a level. I turned my head to whisper in his ear. “You’re not going to make me come again with everyone watching, are you? Please don’t.”

Tom allowed a wicked little smirk to play over his lips, making everyone assume that I had whispered something dirty in his ear, which I suppose I had.

“I do what I want, darling.”

“Tom!” The vibrator’s speed increased again. I was hyperaware that Chris Hemsworth’s thigh was pressed against mine; I was trapped in the booth.

“So, Caro,” Robert leaned across Tom so I could hear him. “Do you think you could convince this loser to let you dance with me?”

Tom laughed, and as Chris got up to let me slide out of the booth, I felt the level of the vibrations drop back to the lowest setting. “Just a little reminder, darling,” Tom breathed in my ear as he stood up to let Robert out.

As Robert and I got to the dance floor, the music turned slow, and he placed one hand on my waist, taking the other in his in that most classic of dancing positions. “So, talk to me,” he said in my ear. “What’s the deal with you and Tom? He seems a little…over the top about you.”

“What are you really asking me, Robert?” I gently leaned a bit toward the far end of the dance floor, indicating to him that we should move farther from the group if he wanted to talk. He took the hint, and, with a melodramatic touch, whirled me about so that we ended up out of range of the vibrator’s remote. I let out a sigh of relief. The effort it took to act normally with the constant stimulation was exhausting.

“Well,” he continued, as though there’d been no interruption. “He’s not the only one away from home. Some of us have wives.” He indicated himself, and cocked his head to the side. “Why’s Tom so screwed up without you?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s an intense guy. He goes hell for leather with everything he cares about. I guess that includes me.” I looked Robert in the eye. “I love him, more than anything. He finds parts of me that I never knew were there. He sees me like no one else. Sometimes that’s a bit frightening, but it’s never dull.”

Robert nodded, considering. “That’s cool. Shall we dance back that way before Loverboy comes looking for you?”

I grinned. “Doesn’t he trust you?”

“Nobody trusts me – except my wife.” He spun me about like a fairy tale princess as we crossed back over the dance floor. I was laughing until the instant we must have gotten within 12 metres of the table, and the vibrator sprang to life, so hard and fast that I stumbled. Luckily I didn’t knock into anyone, and Robert caught me before could actually fall. Tom must have turned the vibrator up to its highest level while I was out of range. He had to know what setting it was on, since the remote echoed the vibrator. As I recovered my feet, the pulsing diminished. _Did he just want to see what the range was? Or was he punishing me for going out of range?_ I wasn’t very amused by this game anymore. I thanked Robert for the dance and stalked over to the table.

“I would like to leave now,” I told Tom, trying not to sound as peevish as I felt.

“Of course, darling.” His manner betrayed no anger or impatience toward me, but of course we had an audience. As we said our good-byes, I wondered how his manner would change in the taxi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vibrator is the Lelo Tiani: http://en.lelo.com/index.php?collectionName=insignia-luxe&groupName=TIANI-2&categoryId=438&infoType=info


	17. A Good Look in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Caro return from their night out with the Avengers cast. Has Tom gone too far this time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel this chapter requires extra warnings, at the expense of perhaps being a bit spoilery. If 'sex + violence = trigger' for you, you might want to stop reading this story now. Get a friend to fill you in, if your curiosity won't let you be. I want to be clear enough with my warning here that no one can claim that they didn't know what they were getting into.
> 
> Again, I will point out that this is a work of fiction. I am in no way insinuating that the real Tom Hiddleston would ever behave toward a woman in the manner depicted in this story.
> 
> If you're still with me, thanks for coming along for the ride.

“You went out of range on purpose,” he hissed in my face.

Tom had brooded the whole ride back to the house. I had likewise stayed silent, not wanting to argue in earshot of a stranger. The vibrator had stayed off, though I was still wearing it. As soon as the front door had shut behind us, he had rounded on me.

“Robert asked me a question. I wanted to be able to think well enough to answer him.” I knew what came next.

“What question? What did he ask you that was so important?” Tom’s hands bracketed my head against the door, boxing me in.

“He wanted to know why you missed me so much, that’s all. What are you so mad about?”

“My girlfriend goes prancing away on the dance floor with Robert Downey, Jr, and then asks what I’m mad about. That’s great. That’s just great. You are mine, Caro. Mine!” He banged the door next to my head for emphasis, making me jump.

“He’s married, for Christ’s sake. We were talking about you! He’s just worried about you. He wasn’t hitting on me.”

Tom pressed his lips into a thin line. “That’s not what it looked like.”

“That’s all it was. And you let me go with him, you know. You could have cooked up some excuse not to let me dance with him, if you’d wanted to.”

“I would have looked like an over-possessive prat.”

“If the shoe fits—“ I knew it was a mistake even before the words left my mouth. I found myself spun around, my cheek against the wood of the door.

“Are you complaining, Caro? Because the last time I checked, you get off on how much I want you.” The vibrator flared on, one of the higher settings, and I jerked. “Should I go away and let you be alone with your new toy? Or should I fuck you, right here, up against this door, like the little tart you are?” He ground himself against me, and I felt how aroused he was. “I know you want it. You always want it, my darling whore.” He pushed my skirt and panties down, caressing my bare ass. It was all I could do to stay standing; I couldn’t speak. He made short work of my blouse and bra, leaving me naked between the door and his fully clothed body.

I heard the sound of his zipper parting, and then he was inside me in one swift thrust, filling me as the vibrator continued its crazy dance on my clit. As we’d discovered in the past, our heights were a poor match for sex standing up though, and he pulled back out. “You’re too short for this to work,” he said with impatience as he grabbed me around the middle. Swinging me about, he took three steps to the living room couch and slung me over the back of it. My feet dangled and my hands flailed for support as he entered me again, evidently more satisfied with his angle and leverage. He fucked me as hard and as fast as he could go, my breasts bouncing from the impact of his hips on my ass.

“Do you want Robert to do this to you? Do you?” He practically growled the words through clenched teeth. 

I was rapidly nearing climax from the vibrator buzzing on my clit, and I gasped my reply. “No! I only want you!”

“Tell me!” he shouted at me. His fingers dug into my hips as he slammed into me again and again.

“I’m yours!” I howled as I came, bucking and jerking against him. The vibrator shut off abruptly, and he grabbed me by the hair, pulling my head up and to the side so that he could see my face.

“If I ever find proof that you’re fucking another man, I will kill you both.”

The words were so unexpected that I laughed. Before I could say anything, Tom yanked me off the couch by my hair, sliding out of me and stepping to the side. I lost my balance, and I yelped as my ass hit the floor. He was on me immediately, my wrists caught easily in one of his long-fingered hands as he knelt between my thighs and loomed over me, his face in mine. He flicked his wrist and the vibrator buzzed on again. How long do the batteries last, for fuck’s sake? 

“You laugh, do you?” His face was cold, unreadable.

“No, Tom! You just surprised me. Why would you say you’d kill me? That’s not funny.”

Tom lowered his lips to my ear. “You’re right. It’s not funny.” He started kissing and biting my throat, touching me only there and at my wrists. I could feel the heat of him through the clothes he still wore, but he didn’t close the distance between our bodies. I writhed at the sensations at the same time that my mind tried to make sense of his words, tried to twist them into something acceptable, skittered away from the sound of truth in them.

My body won. “Tom, please! I’m sorry I laughed. I’m yours. You have to know that’s the truth.” He was sucking on one of my nipples now, driving me wild. He must have put the remote back in his pocket, since the hand not holding my wrists was tweaking my other nipple.

He raised his head and smiled. “I know, darling.” He ran his hand down my side, bringing it to rest at my hip. He lowered himself to brush his cock against the inside of my thigh. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“You,” I whispered.

“You’ll have to be a little more specific,” he teased, gazing at me from beneath his lashes.

“I want you back inside of me. I want you to make love to me.” My voice shook from the effort of forming sentences as the vibrator continued to ravage my over-stimulated clit.

“More than happy to oblige,” he said mildly, and entered me, excruciatingly slowly, releasing his grip on my wrists to thread his fingers through my hair. He lowered himself onto me, still fully dressed in his t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket, and kissed me deeply. His tongue explored my mouth, tasting and taking, as his hips moved sinuously over me. I slid my hands under the waistband of his boxers to claim a double-handful of his delightful ass.

“Tom,” I whispered. He pulled back to look at me. “Can we take out the vibrator now? I’ve had enough.”

“Just one more time for me, darling.” He ran his tongue along my jawline, ending up at my ear. “Let me feel you come again.” I shivered at his words, uncertain whether I could take any more.

“I’ll try,” I answered. “I don’t know if I can. Can you please turn it down?”

“No.” He shoved his hand in his jacket pocket, and the vibrations got stronger, taking on a pulsating pattern that made me cry out. My awareness was reduced to that sensation, and the weight of Tom’s body on mine. “Come for me, my love. Come, Caro! Come!”

His hand slid up my body, between my breasts, stopping on my neck. He easily spanned my throat, his thumb and fingers tightening on my pulse points as his hand pressed on my windpipe. Everything began to go grey around the edges, while at the same time I felt the vibrator pushing my abused clit towards climax. His hips still moved languidly, in contrast to the frantic buzzing of the vibrator and my panic. I gasped and grabbed at his hand with both of mine. “Tom?” It came out a broken whisper.

“Relax, darling. Let go.”

“Stop.” I had no air to put behind the word, so I made no sound. I couldn’t tell whether he understood what I said and ignored it or just didn’t hear. Fear made me claw at him, but I was too weak to have any effect. I saw Tom’s face as though he was at the end of a long, dark tunnel, and was sure I was about to pass out.

The orgasm hit me, my body betraying me with pleasure in the midst of my terror. There was nothing but the ecstasy, my muscles locking up, my eyes staring blindly. I saw colours and stars; I heard bells ringing. The most exquisite fire consumed me: heaven and hell at once.

The next thing I knew, I was gasping for air, boneless, as Tom pounded himself into me, both hands on the floor now, my knees pushed up by his arms. The vibrator was silent, or gone; I couldn’t tell.

“There is nothing so beautiful in this world as seeing you fall apart,” he told me when I met his eyes. “Knowing that I did that to you. That you surrender to me alone.” He punctuated his words with his hard, quick thrusts, exciting himself even more. He came with groan, pressing his hips into me as hard as he could, and then collapsing on top of me. I just lay there, stunned, unable to think, move, or speak.

After a few minutes, Tom stirred, lifting his weight off of me and lying on his side next to me on the carpet. His hand idly traced my curves.

“Ready to get up, pet? We should go to bed. I have filming at ten tomorrow.” His voice was gentle, with no hint of his earlier rage, but also no anxiety that he might have hurt me, either.

With what felt like a huge amount of effort, I turned my head to look at him, bringing one hand up to gingerly touch my throat. I felt sore all over, but my throat throbbed, the pain more intense when I swallowed. “You hurt me,” I whispered, though I meant for it to be louder.

He frowned. “Oh, darling. Did I? I’m sorry if I was a bit rough. Worth it though, wasn’t it? You looked like you came harder than I’ve ever seen.” He removed my hand from my throat and kissed the places where I had been rubbing it. “I’ve been wanting to try that for a while. You were so beautiful. So fragile. So vulnerable. And all for me. No one else gets to see you like I do.” He kissed my lips. “No one.”

When I didn’t respond, he sighed. “Let’s go to bed, Caro. Come on, I’ll help you.” He slid an arm under my shoulders to help me sit up, and then pulled me to my feet. I swayed, dizzy, feeling a little sick. My brain still wasn’t processing everything.

He scooped me up, cradling me in his arms. “Are you still feeling the jet lag, darling? Let’s get you to bed.” _Jet lag? Are you serious?_

Tom helped me to the bathroom, where I managed to persuade him that I could manage on my own. I took a good look in the mirror, my faculties finally coming back to me. I realised I was in shock, or at least I had been.

I had red marks on my throat that I suspected would turn to bruises overnight. I had the multiple love bites Tom had given me over the last twenty-four hours scattered over my neck, breasts, belly, and thighs. There was a matching set of bruises on each of my hipbones, corresponding to Tom’s fingers, overlaid by horizontal lines where my hips had been slammed repeatedly into the back of the couch. When I turned around to examine my back, I found more fingerprint-shaped bruises on my ass, as well as friction burns from the carpet on my lower back. My clit was swollen and sore, and when I used the toilet, it stung to pee, though there was no blood.

I contemplated a shower but couldn’t muster the energy. I settled for washing my face and soothing my sore clit with a cool wet washcloth.

Tom knocked on the door. “Are you all right, darling?” When I didn’t answer, he opened the door, concerned. He saw me standing in front of the mirror, holding the washcloth between my legs. His eyes met mine in the mirror, and a sob escaped me.

He hurried to put his arms around me, and I fought the sudden urge to flinch. He must have seen something in my face anyway. “What is it, Caro? What’s wrong?” He was completely sincere, and I gaped at him.

“Look at me! What have you done to me?” The tears escaped, and I was sobbing, heaving, gulping air. I pushed ineffectually against his chest as he held me to him, petting my hair and shushing me calmly. My crying subsided, and Tom got another damp washcloth to wipe my eyes.

“There, better now?” I nodded, still hiccupping and sniffing.

Tom stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders, and looked me over in the mirror. He turned me around to examine my back as well. Lifting my chin, he looked at me, considering.

“Perhaps I’ve gotten a little carried away, with how long we’d been apart. But you like it rough, Caro. You always have. You love it when I push your boundaries. I can’t do that if I have to ask permission first.” His eyes held mine, requiring a response.

I nodded. “Just…don’t do that again. Choking me, I mean. I was so scared—” I started to cry again. “It wasn’t worth it. It doesn’t matter how hard I came. It wasn’t worth it.” I was sobbing again, and he gathered me in his arms, kissing my face, catching the tears as they rolled down my cheeks.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise.” He kept up his assurances until I quieted again, and then nudged me into leaving the bathroom and climbing into bed.

Nestled in his arms, my head on his chest, I breathed in his familiar scent. Somehow, despite what had happened this evening, I felt safe. It felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it last chapter:
> 
> The vibrator: http://en.lelo.com/index.php?collectionName=insignia-luxe&groupName=TIANI-2&categoryId=438&infoType=info


	18. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caro has an introspective day and an unexpected visitor.

I awoke to soft kisses in the early morning light. Tom’s lips ghosted over my eyelids, my cheekbones, the tip of my nose. We murmured ‘good morning’ to each other as his hands ran gently over my skin.

“Do you remember how we were for the photographs? When I said I could make love to you like that for days?” I nodded. “We don’t have days, but we do have hours until I need to get up.” His eyes searched mine for agreement.

I stretched, smiling as Tom ran a hand down my side, finally cupping me between my legs. He leaned in to kiss my breasts, taking his time, moving slowly, in no hurry at all. I moaned softly, burying my fingers in his hair. I still couldn’t get used to the extra length and how straight it was. I missed his curls.

Tom spread my thighs a little, giving his fingers room to tempt and tease. Any soreness I had felt last night was gone, and his touch felt as arousing as ever. My hips moved as my lust for him grew, and soon he was slipping two fingers inside me, returning them slick and warm to tease my clit. I threw one leg over his to pull him to me.

“Are you trying to tell me something, my love?” His voice was light, laughing.

“I’m ready. Stop teasing. Be nice.” I mock-pouted at him, and he relented. Pulling my leg higher, up over his hip, he entered me gently and gathered me in his arms. He held my gaze, one hand on my cheek, looking as though he was trying to memorise my face.

“Tom,” I sighed. “You know that I love you, don’t you? You know I don’t want anyone else. Why do you get so jealous?”

“I know, darling, I know. It’s like something snaps in my brain when I think of you with someone else. I’ll try to behave better. I promise.” Our hips rocked slowly together as the day brightened, more than an hour passing with kisses and caresses. We murmured endearments, promises, and apologies as we melted into each other. I had never felt so loved, and I tried to return that feeling to him, tried to implant that rock-solid knowledge that I was his; there was no other.

Eventually, Tom returned his fingers to my clit, stroking gently until I came, a slow, rolling orgasm that left me totally satisfied. As always, feeling my climax excited him further, and he came not long after, eyes open, lips forming an ‘O’ of pleasure at the end of my name. We dozed again, still connected, limbs intertwined.

When I woke again, it was to the sound of the front door closing and the smell of coffee. It was almost ten, and Tom had to be on set. He had let me sleep in, leaving a note on the pillow:

 

Darling Caro –

I couldn’t bear to wake my sleeping angel. Coffee’s made. I suggest you stay in – you probably don’t want to answer questions about the bruises on your throat. I’m really, really sorry about that. Please forgive me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Back about 7. Text me if you need anything.  
I love you.  
\-- T

 

I got out of bed and stood in front of the mirror. The purple marks on my throat were clearly made by a hand. _I don’t want to answer questions, Tom? I’m sure you don’t either._

__________

After a light breakfast, I decided to do my nails. I had evidently broken one sometime last evening, though I couldn’t remember when or how. I wound up filing them all shorter to compensate and painted them a discreet pale pink.

My timing was off for lunch. I had eaten breakfast so late that I wasn’t even contemplating another meal yet, instead continuing to work on the lace chart for another elaborate shawl design. I had a stack of medical journals to read for work, but the lace charting distracted me better from thinking about last night. My concentration was broken by a knock at the door.

My first thought was that I wasn’t expecting anyone, and the next was how to conceal the bruises. It was August, and I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Could I get away with a lace scarf? I wrapped one artfully around my neck before answering the door.

“Hi Caro! Tom said you weren’t feeling well, so I thought I’d drop by and check on you.” Scarlett Johanssen stood on the doorstep, dressed as casually as I was, carrying a bag from Saladworks. She shook the bag as she passed through the doorway. “I brought lunch. I hope salad’s okay. I have to eat a lot of veggies to fit in that Black Widow outfit.”

Scarlett unpacked the food as I found plates and utensils. “So, are you okay? Is it just jet lag?” Her eyes fixed on my throat, and I realised that the scarf had slipped when I stretched to reach the plates. Tom had arranged the kitchen to suit himself, of course, and a lot of things were on higher shelves than at home. “Did Tom do that to you?” She came around the table and took the scarf from me as I tried to rewrap it around my neck.

I looked at the floor.

“Caro—”

“It was…an experiment. Sex play…he got a little carried away. I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.” I glanced up to see her looking at me dubiously. “I’m fine,” I repeated, more firmly.

She nodded slowly and returned to her seat at the table. I put the scarf back on, not wanting her to fixate on the bruises. We ate our lunch as Scarlett chattered about filming and asked me questions about my work and designing. More soberly, she talked a little about her recent divorce. “You think you know someone, but you never really do,” she said sadly. “How long have you and Tom been together?”

“About four months,” I answered. “I guess we’ve moved kind of fast. He’s a little intense. He decides what he wants and he goes after it with everything he’s got. Including me.”

Scarlett nodded. “I can see that about him. He’s totally committed to being the best Loki he can. That’s why it was so surprising when he started letting his emotions affect him on set.”

“Well, I think Tom needs everything else to be going well in order to get into Loki’s mind and then switch back to himself again. I think he got stuck being unhappy, being here for a couple weeks straight. He missed Wimbledon earlier this summer, and that made him sad too. It’s sort of a tradition for him, to be there. So if Tom isn’t happy, he doesn’t have the means to climb back out of Loki’s head at the end of the day. Does that make sense?”

Scarlett looked thoughtful, then nodded again. “I’m still missing something, though. If he’s so happy to see you, why did he try to strangle you?”

I buried my face in my hands, elbows on the table, and took a deep breath. “I told you. It was during sex. He got carried away. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He thought I’d like it.”

“Caro.” Her voice took on a hard edge that made me look up. “I saw Tom this morning before he got into costume. He has scratches on his right wrist. Deep ones.”

I thought about my fingernail. _Is that how I broke it?_

“I…I don’t want to talk about this with you. It’s none of your business what Tom and I do in private.” I didn’t want to be rude, to drive her away, but I didn’t even know her. She couldn’t possibly understand what Tom and I meant to each other, and I wasn’t about to try to explain.

“It’s my business if he hurts you, and winds up in jail, unable to finish this movie. But I’m not here because I’m worried about Tom.” Her voice was calm, understanding. “Caro, do you need help?”

“No,” I said simply. “Everything is fine. We’ve been apart, and he just went a little overboard. That’s all.”

Scarlett fixed me with a dubious look. “I’ve had some amazing sex, but I’ve never had to hide in the house afterward. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes, Scarlett. Can we please talk about something else?”

Scarlett left around two, after making me promise to call her if I needed anything. “Anything at all,” she stressed, giving me a serious look.

I puttered about the house, tidying up, putting away some clean laundry. When I was putting away my panties and bras, I noticed that my things were a bit jumbled in the drawer. I had put everything away in neat piles. Rummaging about, I realised that my passport was missing. I had put it in the back of the drawer, reasoning that I couldn’t possibly forget it when packing to go back home.

 _Why would Tom move my passport?_ It couldn’t have been anyone else. No one had been there. Was he afraid that I’d run away while he was on set? That I’d fly back home without a word?

I texted him.

\-- Did you move my passport? – Caro

I knew it might be a while before I got an answer, even the end of the day. Tom obviously wouldn’t have his mobile with him while on set. I was surprised when he called only thirty minutes later.

“Hello, darling. Why were you looking for your passport?” I wasn’t sure whether I imagined the edge to his voice.

“I wasn’t. I just noticed that my underthings looked as though someone had tossed them like a salad. My passport was at the back of the drawer, but it’s not now. Did you move it?”

“I did. There’s a housekeeper coming in tomorrow. Did I forget to mention that? I keep a lockbox in the top of the closet, and I put it in there. If you come to the set tomorrow, you should put your jewellery in there too. I’m sorry if I forgot to let you know. Furthest thing from my mind.”

“I’m sorry I bothered you. I didn’t think you’d even look at your phone until you were done.”

“I told you to text me if you needed anything. I gave my mobile to my assistant so she could tell me if I had a message. We’re taking a little break right now. I have to get back in a few minutes.”

“’She?’ Have I met your assistant?”

Tom laughed. “Are you jealous, darling? I think she ducked out yesterday to avoid meeting you, frankly. She seems to have a bit of a crush on me, so meeting the love of my life probably isn’t high on her to-do list.”

“I’m the love of your life?” I knew he loved me, but he’d never put it that way before.

“Didn’t you know that, darling? I’ll have to tell you more often. I have to go now. See you this evening. We’ll go out to dinner, okay?”

“Okay. I love you, too.”

“I never tire of hearing it, darling.”


	19. Velociraptor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom pushes again, but this time Caro's had enough. How will he react when she pushes back?

“I thought after dinner, we’d head back home, curl up on the couch together, and watch a movie.” Tom swirled his wine in his glass and smiled seductively. As much as Tom loved films, we had a poor track record for reaching the end credits fully clothed and attentive to the screen, unless we were in a theatre, of course. Then we at least kept our clothes on, not that we didn’t get distracted, teasing each other in the dark. When Tom actually wanted to pay attention to a film, he went alone. If he thought I’d like it, I’d probably see it eventually.

“Did you have a movie in mind?” Tom had seen practically everything; my experience was more limited. I was certain he planned to put on something we’d both seen, and he didn’t disappoint me.

“I brought my copy of _Jurassic Park_ along. I’ve been meaning to rewatch it for a while now. You’ve seen that, right?” His face said that if I hadn’t, I was in for a world of teasing. Tom often joked that I must have been raised in the woods, my film catalogue was so limited. I had just been too busy with school, books, and knitting to spend hours sitting in the dark watching movies. It wasn’t important to me.

“Yes, even I’ve seen _Jurassic Park_ —you do mean the first one, don’t you?” He nodded, amused. “Good. Because I’ve only seen the first two.”

My head was spinning a little as we got back home, since I’d had two glasses of wine with dinner and an Irish coffee instead of dessert. Tom was looking pretty happy himself, having polished off the rest of the bottle of wine and an after-dinner Scotch. He got silly when he was drunk, and I found him irresistibly adorable.

After sorting out the DVD player and the television, Tom turned off all the lights, leaving the living room lit only by the glow of the television. Then he grabbed the remote and half sat, half fell onto the couch, narrowly missing my feet as I pulled them back. “Hey! Watch it, mister!” I protested, grinning.

Tom cocked an eyebrow at me, trying valiantly to keep a straight face. “If you’re gonna take up the whole couch, you deserve what you get.” He snorted, unable to hold in his laughter. As soon as he got the movie started, he put down the remote control and grabbed my feet, settling them in his lap. I had kicked off my shoes as soon as we got in the door, and now Tom started rubbing my bare feet while appearing to be watching the movie. His hands moved slowly and sensuously, and it felt really, really good.

My head dropped back on the cushions as I let out a low moan.

“Shh!” Tom said with a frown, his eyes still on the screen. “I’m trying to hear the film.” The little twitch at the corner of his mouth told me that the game was on.

I stretched, pretending that the press of my foot against his groin was an accident. He wriggled in his seat, his hand trailing up my calf to tickle me behind my knee. I giggled and tried to pull away, but he held my ankle with his other hand.

“You’re so wiggly,” he smirked. “What _did_ you eat for dinner?”

“Stop it!” I broke free and scooted up to kneel beside him on the couch and speak softly in his ear. “You know what I had for dinner. The question is, what’s for dessert?”

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes still on the screen. “Yours, or mine?”

“I don’t know,” I said seductively. “I suppose that’s up for debate.” I kissed just behind his ear, tasting his skin.

Tom made a sound I’d never heard before: a combination of a cough and a sigh. His neck strained forward and his hands formed claws in the air.

“What are you doing?” I laughed.

“I’m a velociraptor. And I’m going to eat you alive.” He turned toward me and purred, the sound coming from deep in his throat and sending a shiver down my spine. I giggled. “You’d better run,” he warned silkily.

I gave a fake shriek of terror and bounded off the couch, headed for the kitchen. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw Tom get up from the couch, head forward, hands held like dinosaur’s claws. He came towards me in a remarkable impression of the velociraptor’s walk, making that coughing sound again. He was grinning. “The kitchen,” he said. “A classic choice.”

I reached the kitchen and ducked through the doorway. I stuck my head back out to see him pretend to scent the air. “There’s no door though!” I complained.

“Better hide then,” he answered, leering at me.

I giggled some more and crawled under the kitchen table. Stealth wasn’t an option, with the chairs scraping along the floor. In my tipsy clumsiness, I knocked one over. I just laughed harder.

Tom’s head, black against the lesser darkness of the room, appeared around the doorframe. The coughing sound came again. I stifled my giggles and cowered under the table. Silent in his socks, Tom entered the kitchen, still bird-like in his movements. It was too funny; I had to laugh.

“Tom, you’re silly. Don’t you want to see the movie?” I started to crawl out from under the table. As I stood up, Tom pounced.

“Why aren’t you hiding, little girl? I told you I’d eat you alive.” His mouth was on my throat, licking and biting as his body pressed me back into the table. That purr sounded in my ear, making me shiver again and sending my blood rushing down between my legs. He lifted me to sit on the table.

“I can’t imagine why you think I’d hide from that,” I said breathlessly as his hands roamed over my body. “It’s my favourite thing in the world.”

“Is it?” His voice managed to convey arousal, pride, and a hint of surprise all at the same time.

“Yes,” I gasped as he ran his tongue around the curve of my ear. “I love the feel of your mouth on me. Eat me, Tom. Eat me alive.” My fingers worked the buttons of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, all muscle since he’d been training for the film. He shivered as I ran my nails over his biceps, one hand coming to rest at the nape of his neck and the other threading into his hair. I pushed down, not hard enough to move him, but just enough to suggest.

Uncharacteristically, Tom followed my direction without resistance, sinking to his knees on the kitchen floor. He nuzzled my inner thigh as he reached up with both hands to slide my panties down. I shifted my weight to my hands to make it easier for him. He buried his face between my thighs, his hands on my hips, my skirt bunching up, and made that odd purring sound again. This time I felt as well as heard it, and it filled me with lust.

“Why is that so goddamned sexy?” I panted, and I felt him grin. Then he drew his tongue up my slit, flicking my clit with the tip, making me gasp. Suddenly, he started licking and sucking me furiously, growling and purring and shaking his head side to side. I fell back on the table, holding onto the edge as he pressed his face into me, and I wrapped my legs around his head. I called out his name as he savaged me like a wild animal. He turned his head and, growling, bit me sharply on my inner thigh. Even as I screamed, more in surprise than in pain, he returned his mouth to my clit, plunging two fingers inside me at the same time. He made the velociraptor noise again, and the vibration of it sent me over the edge, keening, half-sitting up to bury my hands in his hair.

He snaked up my body to claim my mouth, still ravenous. I gasped for air and tried to speak.

“You fucking bit me!” Tom flattened me against the table in the dark, his cock insistent through the layers of his pants and trousers.

His mouth trailed down my neck, tasting, nipping, licking. “I’m sorry, darling. I got a little too into my character. You did tell me to eat you alive.” He reclaimed my mouth with his, but I pushed him back.

“No! You can’t keep hurting me, then saying you got carried away! You bit me! You left another mark on me!” I realised I was getting hysterical, but I couldn’t let him blame his behaviour on me again this time.

He pinned me to the table by my shoulders, his cock still pressing between my legs. “You didn’t tell me to stop when I bit you,” he said through clenched teeth. “You waited until after you came to complain.” I couldn’t see his face in the dark. I could dimly hear the movie playing in the other room, screams and music that seemed fitting to my own predicament.

“It all happened so fast. Please, Tom, you’re scaring me!”

Suddenly his weight lifted off me, and before I could sit up, he was through the doorway. As I slid off the table, I heard a door slam. I made my way carefully out of the kitchen in the dark and turned on one of the living room lamps. I hadn’t been able to tell which door I had heard shutting, but since Tom was shirtless, and his keys were still by the front door, I was sure he was still in the house.

I stopped the movie and listened. I thought I could hear something down the hall. Moving towards the sound, I saw a light under the bathroom door. I could identify the noise now: the shower was running. I tried the knob; thankfully, it wasn’t locked. Easing the door open, I found that Tom had gotten into the shower in his trousers and socks. He was sitting on the shower floor, knees up, his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking, and I realised he was crying.

I crossed the small room and opened the shower door. He didn’t look up until I shut off the water. His face was wet, pale, and blotchy, his eyes grey pools of despair in a face full of sorrow. It was difficult to believe that this face usually smiled. I knelt down on the wet shower floor and took him in my arms. He leaned his head against my chest and sobbed.

Brushing his wet hair away from his face, I shushed him, much as he had quieted me last night. “Let’s get you dry, okay?”

Tom nodded silently and let me help him up. His wet socks left prints across the floor as I helped him over to sit on the closed toilet. He peeled them off and dropped them on the floor, only to sit and stare at them despondently. I kissed the top of his head to get his attention.

“Stand up, love. We have to take off your wet things.”

He nodded again, absently, and stood up. He made no move to unbuckle his belt, so I did it for him. “I think this might be ruined, dear.” He only nodded again. I unfastened his trousers and let them drop to the floor, pushing his wet boxers down after them. He stepped out of them and simply stood there, looking at the floor.

“Tom?” He looked up from the floor, moving his eyes but not his head. He looked sad and pathetic, with his bedraggled hair and red-rimmed eyes. His shoulders slumped, and any trace of arousal was gone. He shivered. I pulled a towel from the rack and started drying him off. Eventually he moved to help me, taking the towel and drying his hair.

“Come on, Tom. Let’s get you to bed.” The irony of the situation was not lost on me. I herded him into bed and went back to quickly take off my makeup and brush my teeth. When I returned to the bedroom, he was curled up in a ball, his back to me. I climbed into bed and turned out the light. Passing cars illuminated the room through the blinds at irregular intervals, making Tom’s skin glow with a ghostly paleness.

Running a hand up his back, I whispered, “I love you.”

Without turning around, he answered, “I love you, too. More than I can say. Why do I hurt you?” He rolled then, turning to face me, though it was too dark to see. “I know it’s not an excuse, but I lose myself with you. I lose my sense of proportion. I want to have you, own you, keep you. Why can’t I just love you?”

I didn’t have any answer for that, so I told him. “I don’t know. But you do have me. You shouldn’t worry so much about proving it. But I need you to stop hurting me in bed. It’s too much.”

I felt him nod. “Please forgive me, love. I never meant to hurt you.” He started to cry again.

“Tom, Tom, stop.” 

He took a deep breath, and I kissed him, trying to show him my love and forgiveness without words. His arms came around me and held me gently, as if I were made of glass.

“Can you forgive me for being such a tit, darling?”

“You’re not a tit. And I can’t stay angry at you, handsome man. Especially when you apologise so dramatically.” I smiled. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“Alright,” he said softly, placing one last kiss on my lips. Just as he rolled over, another car passed by, lighting up the room for an instant. I lay awake for some time after, wondering whether I had really seen a triumphant smirk on Tom’s face in that moment of illumination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Tom's velociraptor impression here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nl1bDp2EF48


	20. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October 2011: The Deep Blue Sea opens, and Tom insists that Caro attends the premiere and after-party. Caro finds someone to chat with whilst Tom is busy with photographers.

Tom seemed true to his word, no longer looking for ways to push my boundaries in bed. He was still dominant, but no longer violent. I had extended my stay in Cleveland to two weeks (my passport had reappeared in my lingerie drawer without comment), returning to work with a month of shooting remaining on _The Avengers._ Tom was able to fly home twice during that time, and he seemed calmer and happier than before. On occasion, I wondered about the smug smile I thought I had seen on Tom’s face the night he had bitten me, but decided that it must have been a trick of the light.

The fall was busy for Tom, with post-production work on _The Avengers_ (or _Avengers Assemble,_ as it was being called in the UK) and promoting _War Horse_ and _The Deep Blue Sea._ I managed to beg off from the _War Horse_ premiere, but Tom insisted that I attend the London premiere of _The Deep Blue Sea._ “Please, darling. It would mean so much to me to have you by my side. It will be fun. I promise.” Since I wasn’t working that weekend, I had no excuse not to attend.

I had never paid any attention to movie premieres before. _Thor_ and _Midnight in Paris_ had both opened when Tom and I had first started dating, and the openings weren’t in London. I wasn’t even sure whether Tom had attended the opening of _Midnight in Paris,_ since back then, we spent plenty of nights doing things without each other. Now, besides work and knitting night, I spent most of my time with Tom.

I had no idea what to expect, but the chaos and cacophony surprised me. I hung back with Luke Windsor while Tom and Rachel Weisz talked to reporter after reporter, signed autographs, and posed for pictures. Eventually, Tom stepped into the photo area, and a million flashbulbs went off. He stood still, posing and smiling, obviously enjoying himself. Rachel joined him and more photos were taken. Tom started to head into the theatre, and then suddenly turned around. To my horror, he gestured for me to join him. Luke gave me a little shove as all eyes turned to see who Tom was looking at.

I moved forward, praying not to trip in my unaccustomed high heels. As I stepped in front of the white screen, Tom moved to take my elbow. I thought we were just going to walk into the theatre, but he stopped, turning back to the cameras. The flashbulbs exploded again, and I hoped I was keeping the embarrassment I felt off my face. I looked up at Tom, a question on my face, and he leant down to kiss me. _Tom, what have you done?_

Finally, he steered me away from the photographers and into the theatre.

“Why didn’t you warn me you were going to do that?” I hissed in his ear as we sat down.

“Because you would have found a way out of it,” he returned with a quirk of his lip. “I’m sick of being evasive when someone asks my relationship status. It’s time to come out.”

“You could have discussed it with me first.” I didn’t know why I said that anymore; Tom made unilateral decisions all the time. They usually weren’t this consequential, though. “Did Luke know you were going to do that?” I knew the answer already. Luke’s push made it obvious that he was in on it.

“Yeah, we actually discussed it at length. He’s still afraid that a certain segment of my fans will get upset that I have a girlfriend. I told him I didn’t care.” He turned to look at me in the dim light as people filed into the theatre behind us. “I’m sick of hiding that I’m in love. I don’t care about fuelling the fantasies of my fans. If they like my work, they’ll stay fans. But by insinuating in interviews that I’m available I felt like I was betraying you.”

“It didn’t bother me. You know that. It didn’t change the reality of us. What’s going to happen now? I liked my anonymity.”

“It’ll be all right, darling. I promise.” He put his arm around my shoulders as the lights went down and the film started.

I had read Terence Rattigan’s play at Tom’s suggestion, so I knew the story. Seeing it come alive on screen was something else entirely. It was beautiful, every character flawed, the era captured perfectly. During the love scene between Freddy and Hester, I whispered in his ear, “You could make love to me like that for days.” 

He smiled, squeezing my shoulder and kissing my hair. “Recognise that, do you?” He whispered. “It’s so much more wonderful when it’s for real.”

\------------------

I felt like a fish out of water at the after-party. Far from being a celebrity-watcher, I had no idea who most of the people around me were. Tom introduced me around, of course, but the number of people I met was so large that I had no hope of remembering most of the names. Luckily, Tom stayed at my side most of the time, prompting me as people approached us so that it looked like I knew their names. Of course, everyone approached Tom since he was one of the stars of the film.

I had an odd little chat with Rachel Weisz, since it turned out that her great-aunt was a pathologist that I had met several times during my training. As it turned out, my one memory of her was when she berated me for my bad posture. “You’ll wind up a bent-over old woman if you don’t straighten up!” she’s told me. Rachel laughed, saying that she could definitely imagine her aunt doing that to a poor stranger.

Despite my alarming lack of knowledge about current events in the British entertainment industry, a few names were familiar. I had thoroughly enjoyed the BBC’s version of _Sherlock _when it had aired the previous fall. Still, I barely recognised Benedict Cumberbatch when he came up to hug Tom and thump him on the back. He was blonde, with dark roots and eyebrows, wearing an immaculately tailored suit. A tall, willowy brunette trailed behind him.__

“Fantastic film, Tom. A tremendous job. I forget, have you met Anna?” He gestured to the woman as she caught up with him. She gave a small smile as she shook Tom’s offered hand. Benedict turned to me. “And you must be Caro. The last time I spoke to Tom, he talked about you nonstop. He seems rather smitten.” Tom rolled his eyes as Benedict kissed my hand, waggling his eyebrows in an over-exaggerated silly manner.

Later in the evening, Tom was pulled away for more photos with the cast. I took the opportunity to visit the ladies’ and check my hair and makeup. I felt like the ugly duckling amongst so many gorgeous actresses, no matter how many times Tom told me I was the most beautiful woman there. I had eyes, after all, and they didn’t see what he saw. I had to brace myself to leave the loo and rejoin the attractive throng.

As I crossed the main area, I decided that a drink might be just the thing to occupy me until Tom was done with photos. I angled towards the bar, unnoticed by the celebrities around me. About two metres from the bar, I felt a hand on my arm. Startled, I looked up to see Benedict Cumberbatch, who immediately apologised for accosting me. When I said I had only been going to get a drink, he offered me his arm and escorted me to the bar.

Drinks in hand, he suggested that we move somewhere a little quieter so that we could hear one another. As we wandered toward the restaurant lobby, I asked him where Anna had gone. “She doesn’t really enjoy this sort of party,” he told me. “She’s gone home to bed.” I couldn’t tell from his tone whether that disappointed him or not, but I didn’t pursue it further.

Once in the lobby, Benedict asked whether I’d mind stepping outside so that he could smoke. I wrinkled my nose but agreed, since speaking with a smoker still sounded better than sitting by myself. Once outside however, I found it was rather chilly. Ben, being the gentleman he was, offered me his jacket. I was sure I looked rather silly in such an oversized jacket, but my desire for comfort won out over my concern for my appearance. After all, I was probably the least attractive woman there anyway. Who would be looking at me? Ben promised to obtain his nicotine fix as quickly as possible, sucking hard on his cigarette.

While he smoked, Ben regaled me with stories about Tom during the filming of _War Horse._ Most of the stories revolved around dealing with recalcitrant horses. “Didn’t someone once say that actors should avoid working with animals and children at all costs?” I asked, laughing.

“Yes. It was W. C. Fields, I believe.” Ben finished his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. “Let’s get you back inside before you freeze, you delicate flower.” He took my elbow again and opened the door, ushering me inside.

Tom stood in the lobby. In the instant before Benedict followed me into the restaurant, Tom was livid, his fists clenched, his face full of thunder. As Benedict stepped in, Tom’s demeanour changed completely as he smiled, relaxed his hands and his stance, and spoke.

“Oh, there you are, darling! I’m sorry the pictures took so long. I’ve been remiss. Has Benedict been entertaining you?”

I glanced back at Ben, noticing that the glass front of the lobby would have allowed Tom to watch Ben and me talking. Nothing untoward had happened; in fact I had stood a bit further away from Ben than I normally would have to avoid the smoke.

“Ben just wanted some company while he had a smoke, since Anna’s gone home to bed already. He was telling me about how many times the horses ruined the takes during filming on _War Horse._ ” Tom had told me the same stories before, but they were still funny when told from another point of view. I took off Ben’s jacket and offered it back to him, thanking him for letting me use it to stay warm.

“But of course. You’re quite welcome.” He said as he slipped the suit jacket back on.

Tom held out his hand to me; I suddenly pictured a falconer, holding his arm up for his trained bird to return. Dismissing that thought, I took Tom’s hand and let me draw me to him, placing his arm possessively around my waist.

“Are you ready to go, darling?” His voice was quiet, and I was sure that Ben couldn’t hear the edge in it.

“Of course. I was just waiting for you. It’s your party.” I tried to show him my confusion at his evident anger. He gave a tiny, curt nod that seemed to say, ‘Just as it should be,’ and turned his face back to Benedict, once again friendly and congenial.

“Thanks for keeping her company while I was busy, man. Give Anna my regards.”

We made the rounds to say goodbye, Tom’s left arm locked around my waist while he shook hands with his right. A few people seemed surprised that he wasn’t giving hugs, but recovered gracefully when presented with a handshake or a right-handed half-hug.

Rather than endure another silent cab ride home as I had in Cleveland, I broached the subject right away, addressing the back of Tom’s head as he started out the window. “Are you angry with me for talking to Benedict? If you were watching, you know we were only chatting. We were out on the kerb, in public. What’s the matter with that?”

Tom turned his head slowly towards me, the cold fury in his eyes taking me completely by surprise. I knew he was upset but this seemed completely out of proportion even to the perceived insult.

“Not here,” he spat through clenched teeth.

When I opened my mouth to protest his anger, he simply grabbed my jaw with one hand and kissed me, hard, taking and invading, effectively ending the conversation. Despite my annoyance that he wouldn’t explain what he thought I’d done wrong, I found myself, as always, aroused by being dominated by him. I didn’t let anyone else treat me this way. Why was this relationship so different?

Tom continued kissing me fiercely until we arrived back home. Evidently he was more comfortable with letting the cabbie see us snogging and groping than arguing. As usual, he was his affable self while dealing with the driver, even apologising sheepishly for the kissing in the back seat, claiming to be a little tipsy. I knew it was an act; when we got inside he would be clearheaded, sober, and angry.

Tom surprised me by remaining calm. He headed straight for the bedroom to hang up his suit, leaving me wondering what he was thinking. Had he decided that he’d overreacted? Was he simply going to drop the subject and act as though he hadn’t been angry in the first place? I was poised to defend, but there was no attack.

I decided that I couldn’t let him just pretend he hadn’t gotten angry at me for speaking with a man in public. If he wasn’t going to start the conversation, I would. This time, it would be on my terms.

When I entered the bedroom, Tom was turning down the bedclothes, wearing only his boxers. The lights were low, and as I walked in, he smiled.

“I thought we’d go straight to bed, darling. Is that alright with you?” There was no hint of anger, but a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Actually, I wanted to talk about what happened tonight. When you found me talking with Benedict.”

Tom gave me a quizzical look “What happened, darling? I found you, we took our leave, we came home.”

“You’re leaving out the part where you got mad at me.” I was getting really annoyed that he insisted on pretending to be ignorant of what I was talking about. He was going to make me spell it out, and it was going to sound as stupid as it was. Then he would tell me that I had imagined it. I decided to cut to the chase. “Don’t tell me you didn’t. I can read you better than any director or any moviegoer. You were furious with me for walking off with Benedict, even though we were in public. Why don’t you trust me? What more can I say or do to convince you that I love you, and that I don’t want anyone else? Why did you get so angry?” I was shouting by the end, frustrated by his continued look of confusion.

He crossed the room and took my hands. “Caro, darling, perhaps I was a little flustered at not being able to find you right away, but I wasn’t angry. I’m happy you found someone to talk to while I was busy. I’m sorry I had to neglect you even for a minute. Can we go to bed now? It’s been a long day.”

He sounded so reasonable. I started to wonder whether I had imagined the fury on his face, in his body language, but I knew I hadn’t. Maybe he was trying to control it. Maybe I should let it pass.

“Why won’t you admit it?” My voice was small now. I didn’t know whether continuing to pursue this was folly, but I couldn’t let it go. “Why can’t you be honest with me? You were completely pissed off when you saw me outside, talking to Benedict, wearing his jacket. Even if you’ve realised now how silly that was, can you please own up to how you felt at the time?”

Tom took a deep breath. “Can we drop this, please? Whatever I felt then, I’m not angry now. I just want to go to bed, together.” He kissed me, softly, asking slowly for more. _I don’t want to fight with you. I love you. Come to bed. Let me make love to you._

I lost my will to prove something in the sweetness of his lips. I kissed him back enthusiastically.

“Get ready for bed, darling. I’ll be right here, waiting for you.” He nipped at my lower lip, smiling at my moan in response. “Go on now, hurry.” He released my hands, and, as I moved past him to head for the loo, gave me a pat on the bum.

“Cheeky,” I admonished him as I shut the door.

When I returned to the bedroom, Tom was lying in bed on his side, watching the bathroom door. He had shed his boxers, and he was lazily stroking his half-hard cock.

“Starting without me?” I asked him as I approached the bed. I wasn’t wearing anything either, since Tom had been quite clear in his intentions.

“I started thinking about you and Benedict,” he said, shocking me. “You look good together. I’ve seen him naked. It’s very easy to imagine what he’d look like, fucking you.” His hand continued to slowly stroke his developing erection.

My jaw dropped; I was literally speechless. His eyes were locked on mine. “Can you imagine it? Go on, think about it.”

I found my voice. “No. I don’t want Benedict. I only want you.” _This has to be a test._

“He’s an attractive man, Caro. Can you honestly say you wouldn’t want him, under the right circumstances?”

“He’s handsome, granted. But I happen to be in love already, with you. So they’d have to be some impossible circumstances. Can we drop this, please?” As I echoed his earlier request, I wondered whether he saw some sort of parallel between my demand for an explanation of his anger and his suggestion that I imagine having sex with Benedict. I couldn’t see one. Perhaps it was that he thought they were both pointless requests. Was he just baiting me, looking for some twisted sort of evidence that I was attracted to another man? I decided that I’d had enough mindfucking for the evening; all I wanted now was to connect with my lover.

I crawled up onto the bed, pushing Tom onto his back and grabbing his wrist, pulling his hand away from his cock. As I flattened my body onto his, he wrapped his arms around me and rolled, reversing our positions and pinning me beneath him. “Or did you want to be on top, darling?”

“I like feeling your weight on me,” I answered truthfully. “I like letting you take the lead.”

“I know, darling,” he said as he slid down my body and rested his head on my stomach. “It’s one of the things about you I love most. Everyone else sees you as an independent, powerful woman with a mind of your own. Architect of your own destiny. Nobody’s fool.” He dropped a kiss just below my navel. “But you’re my little fool, aren’t you? No one else suspects this side of you. The slave girl, the biddable wench, the willing slut. I can have you anytime I like, can’t I?” He slid two fingers inside me, making me gasp. “See? You’re drenched, darling. You love it when I put you in your place. Tell me what you want.” His voice changed from teasing to commanding. “You don’t get anything until you tell me what you want.”

“I want your mouth on me, please,” I begged.

“Here?” He placed another kiss on my stomach.

“No!” I squeezed his fingers inside me.

“Here?” he licked my inner thigh, slowly, watching my face.

“Tom!” I whined.

“Oh! Here?” He somehow managed to smirk and kiss my hip bone at the same time.

I sat up, and grabbing his head by the hair, directed his face between my legs. He chuckled as he licked a line up to my clit. I moaned in approval and flopped back on the pillows. “Perhaps you are the architect of your own destiny, after all.”

“Too much talking,” I complained, wiggling my hips. “I want your tongue to be doing something else.”

Tom grinned. “As my lady wishes.” Tom ran his free hand up the inside of my thigh to the knee, holding me open for his roving tongue. His fingers started to move in and out of me as he circled my clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing and tormenting me until I pleaded with him for more. “I live to hear you beg,” he whispered harshly before applying his mouth fully to the task of making me come as quickly as possible, sucking and licking me avidly while fucking me roughly with his fingers.

I came hard, crying out over and over as he wrung every last drop of pleasure from me. When I collapsed back onto the pillows, limp, he slid his fingers from me and slithered back up my body until we were face to face. The satiny feel of his skin on mine made me twitch with aftershocks of my orgasm.

“What would you like now, my lady?” The glint in his eye was matched by the twitch of his cock against my thigh.

I smiled lazily. “Anything that pleases you, my lord. Though hopefully nothing too strenuous on my part. I’m suddenly very, very relaxed.” I stretched beneath him, my fingers laced above my head.

Catching my wrists with both hands, he angled his hips, bringing the head of his cock to my opening. “This will do nicely. Spread your thighs for me, darling. There’s a good girl.”

I brought my knees up and wrapped my legs around his waist as he thrust into me, his eyes on mine as he claimed me. Releasing my wrists, he interlaced his fingers with mine above our heads. “My Caro,” he whispered as he thrust into me, again and again. “Mine.” His eyes, dark and intense, roved over my face. As he grew closer to orgasm, he kissed me, his tongue as insistent, his hands clenching mine almost painfully. I moved beneath him, eager to please him. Suddenly he broke from the kiss, throwing his head back with a cry of pleasure, pressing his hips into me.

“God, yes, come for me,” I breathed. He was so beautiful with his features in sharp relief in the dim light, transported by passion. _How could he think that I’d want anyone else?_

As we cuddled afterward, I resolved to let his reaction to my chat with Benedict go. He really was trying to control his possessiveness. _It just took practice, right?_

\------------------ 

I found it indescribably odd to see the photos of Tom and me from the premiere. At Luke’s suggestion, I refrained from any foolhardy Google searches. Luke and Tom’s Twitter accounts were bombarded with questions about the woman Tom kissed at the premiere, but they ignored them. They reported that the general fandom response was, ‘Who the fuck is she?’ but no one knew my name.

Scarlett called late the next day. “Welcome to fame, girlfriend!”

“Oh, come on. No one knows who I am. No one cares, right?”

“Wrong, chickie. Tom’s got some rabid fangirls, and they’ll hate it that he’s got a girlfriend. Don’t ask me why. It’s not like any of them have a chance with him if you weren’t in the way. Ryan got the same reaction when we were together. Male fans don’t seem to care so much if an actress is taken. It’s crazy, but it’s real.”

“Do you think it will hurt Tom’s marketability?”

“Nah. Even insanely jealous fangirls buy movie tickets and DVDs. They just bitch about it. So, tell me: how’s Tom been behaving? Is he treating you okay?”

“He’s a gem, Scarlett. A real keeper.” Tom was reading a book on the couch, but I could tell he was listening. “Some days, he even makes the bed.” Tom laughed, giving up the ruse that he wasn’t paying attention. “You want to talk to Scarlett?”

Tom took the phone and chatted with her for a bit while I got ready for bed. As I padded silently back into the living room in my pyjamas, I heard Tom say, “Yeah, I have a bunch of interviews about it tomorrow. They say they’re about Sea, but I know they’re going to ask about Caro.” I stopped dead and stared at him. “It’s getting late here, Scarlett. Yes, thanks. Talk to you soon. Miss you, too. Bye.”

He eyed me as I gaped at him. “You’re going to talk about me in interviews? Weren’t you going to tell me? Or maybe ask me if that was okay?”

“I’m not going to talk about you, really. I’m going to talk about us. It’s better if I just answer the questions in a controlled fashion. Hopefully it will keep the press from digging. It seems to have worked for Scarlett and Nate.” 

“Um, no, it hasn’t. Have you Googled Nate? It doesn’t help that he posts naked women on his Tumblr blog all the time.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Bad example, I guess. But throwing them a little bone will keep the press from stalking us trying to identify you and find out how long we’ve been together. I’m going to make it quite clear that harassing you will make me very displeased.”

“Since when do journalists care about whether you’re displeased?” I scoffed. I thought his plan was rubbish.

“I more meant that I’ll make it clear to my fans that actually harassing you or badmouthing you would upset me. But I will make an appeal to the press that you’re not a celebrity, and you’re not going to grant interviews.”

“And what are you going to tell them about me? Don’t I get approval?” I folded my arms over my chest, but doubted I looked overly serious in my pyjamas.

“I have a bit more experience with this than you, darling.” His tone was mild, but I could tell he was annoyed.

“That’s true, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t tell me what you’re up to before you do it. I know this is your career, but it does concern me.” I frowned, frustrated that he seemed to think my feelings were incidental.

Tom crossed the space between us and took my hands, unfolding my arms. “Darling, this time I really do know best. Would you please be ruled by me in this? I’m sorry I didn’t keep you in the loop. I won’t let you down, I promise. I know how to handle this.”

I sighed. His face was open and honest, and I knew it was a ploy to get me to stop arguing. Unfortunately, that didn’t make me any less susceptible to his charms. “Okay. But if I have to start sneaking in and out of the hospital, I’ll be the one who’s displeased.”

“So noted, darling. Ready for bed?”


	21. Photographers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's interview brings Caro unwanted attention.

The Observer  
Sunday 29 October 2011

A New Love for Loki?

Tom Hiddleston has had a banner year, working with Spielberg, Allen, and Branagh. His latest film is The Deep Blue Sea, directed by Terence Davies. He’s evidently had luck in another area as well: his love life.

A long cry from the exhausted man he describes himself as last Christmas Eve, after finishing the filming of The Deep Blue Sea, Hiddleston appears extremely happy and well-rested. “I’m having a fantastic time. I have War Horse and The Deep Blue Sea out there. I just recently finished shooting Avengers Assemble, which was an enormous amount of work, but such an incredible experience. And I get to share it all with the love of my life.”

Usually reticent about his personal life, Hiddleston seems eager to share his joy. “I met Carolyn almost eight months ago, and my life was turned on its ear. I thought I was happy before; I didn’t realise until I met her that something was missing. She really is my other half.”

Avengers Assemble filming lasted for six months in various US locations. How did the couple handle that? “I flew home whenever possible. Carolyn can’t just take time from work at a moment’s notice. She did manage one brief visit to the set. It was great to be able to introduce her to the rest of the cast, as we’d become such good friends by then. And I think they were all sick of hearing me talk about her constantly! Carolyn and Scarlett really hit it off.”

Hiddleston’s fame has increased since Thor’s release earlier this year. Is he worried about the reaction of his (mostly female) fans when they hear he’s taken? “Not really. I only aim for people to appreciate my work and to be entertained. I’m not trying to win a popularity contest. I do hope that everyone, fans and press, leaves Carolyn in peace. She’s a busy professional; she doesn’t have time for interviews, and I don’t want her to have to worry about being followed in the street.”

So are wedding bells in the future for the rising star and his ‘other half’? “Only time will tell. I certainly wouldn’t rule it out. The question really is whether she’ll have me. She’s very sensible, and I’m in a rather dodgy business.”

The Deep Blue Sea is in theatres now.

\-------------

“When did you visit the set?” Julie waved The Review at me as I entered the office.

 _I knew she’d notice that._ I had been astonished to read it myself, since Tom knew I had obtained my leave from work under false pretences. Did he want me to get in trouble? Of course, the chances of Keith reading the theatre section were slim, but any one of my colleagues could see it and wonder the same thing as Julie. After I’d practically hyperventilated over the comment, Tom had pointed out that my parents lived not all that far from Cleveland, at least as compared to London, and I should just say that I visited for the weekend.

“I couldn’t go all that way and let 800 more miles keep me from seeing Tom,” I said. “I’d already crossed the ocean.” I still refused to outright lie to Julie, keeping to half-truths and evasions instead. She knew that I had moved into Tom’s place while he was away, ostensibly to watch the house, and thought that he had asked me to move in permanently on his return.

“You know, it’s a good thing you came in early this morning.” A colleague had asked me to take shift two hours early so that she could catch an early flight.

“Why?” I asked, puzzled.

“Because there were a couple photographers lurking around the front lobby at eight. Security managed to get them to leave around nine by invoking the ‘no loitering’ rule. They were looking for you.”

“That was quick. Tom only used my first name and said I was a professional. He didn’t say a professional ‘what.’” I paused. “Unless he gave them more information off the record.”

Julie gave me a quizzical look. “Why would he do that? He said he wanted you left alone.”

“Never mind,” I said quickly. “That was silly. Anything I have to sign?” I decided that getting off the subject was the safest course. He had asked the press to leave me alone. How had they come up with my identity so quickly though, with only my first name and a photo? I supposed that any number of people could have contacted The Guardian with my identity, hoping to be quoted as a source or make a few dollars. Why had I automatically wondered whether Tom had given them more information than he’d claimed?

The rest of the day passed without incident, and at six o’clock I was ready to leave. My knitting group was meeting at seven, so I planned to grab some food on the way. My pager sounded. I wasn’t on call, so I expected it was a mistake. I didn’t recognise the extension, which made it even more likely a misdialled page, but I answered it, just in case.

“Hello? This is Dr Foreman. I was paged.”

“This is the security office, Dr Foreman. We have a situation in the lobby. There are several photographers here claiming they have an appointment with you, and asking for directions to your office. It sounded unlikely to me, so I thought I’d check with you, if you were even still here.”

I ran a hand down my face. “I am still here, but they do not have an appointment. Do they know you’re speaking with me, or can you tell them I’ve gone?”

“I’m in the office. They can’t hear me. I’ll tell them they missed you. But what’s this about, Doctor? Can we expect this to happen again?”

“I’m afraid my boyfriend is famous, and the press have just discovered who I am. It’s rather annoying. I hope it doesn’t happen again, but I can’t control them. I suppose I’ll have to start sneaking out the back way.”

“If you don’t mind my advice, Doctor, sometimes the best thing is simply to let them snap their pictures. Walk on by like you don’t even see them. Don’t acknowledge them, and, whatever you do, don’t answer any questions. They’ll get tired of it soon enough.”

“Seen this before, have you?” 

“Similar, anyway. Few years back, one doctor had a patient get obsessed with him, stalked his wife, eventually killed her. The press hounded him for a while, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. A few days of photos of him walking through the lobby in his lab coat, and they gave up trying for anything juicy.”

“All right then. Thanks for the advice. I’ll be down in a few minutes. Might as well make sure my hair looks decent.”

The security officer laughed. “Remember, don’t even notice them. They’ll get close, but if they touch you we can throw them out and ban them from the premises.”

“Good to know. I’m so looking forward to this,” I answered, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I thought everyone wanted to be famous,” he commented.

“If I’m to be famous, I’d like it to be for something I did that’s worthwhile. Not just who I associate with.”

“Makes sense. See you soon.”

It was a little difficult to ignore the flashbulbs. Security flanked me on my way to the door, but their zone of influence ended there. On the sidewalk, the photographers started shouting, trying to get me to turn their way. They even tried nicknames, as though I would suddenly think a friend was calling me from behind a camera. I was grateful that Tom had referred to me formally in the interview; no one knew I was ‘Caro,’ not ‘Carrie.’ I kept my face carefully blank, not wanting to be photographed frowning, and managed to snag a cab.

I fished my mobile from my handbag and called Tom. “Hello, darling, how are you?”

“You promised that going public wouldn’t affect my life.” I was so upset that I didn’t say ‘hello.’

“What happened?”

“I’m told I missed the photographers this morning when I came in early, but I just ran the gauntlet to leave. It was annoying to me and disruptive to the hospital, especially the security department. How did they know who I am, Tom? Did you tell them?”

“Why would I do that? I told them to leave you alone.” Now he sounded cross as well.

“If you hadn’t talked about me at all, you wouldn’t have had to tell them to leave me alone. You dangled me in front of them like a carrot in front of a mule. Did you really think they would let me be just because you asked nicely? They don’t obey you like I do.” My hand flew to my mouth. _Did I just say that?_

Amazingly, Tom didn’t seem to find that comment remarkable. “Darling, I want to be open about our relationship. I need to have you by my side at parties and premieres. They would have spotted you eventually.” His tone was placating, reasonable.

“I’m going to have to sneak in and out of work like a thief! It’s ridiculous. I hope no one’s following me to Loop.”

“Maybe you should just come home, darling. Stay in a few nights and let it blow over.”

“I don’t know. Do you really think they’ll follow me to my knitting night? It’s not exactly wild times.”

“They don’t care what you’re doing, unless it’s prurient. They just want pictures. Well, and they want you to talk about us, of course. Come on home, darling. Stay in with me tonight. By next week I’m sure they’ll have someone else to bother.”

“All right, but I still want to get some knitting done.”

“I promise I’ll let you knit. I want to reread _Henry V_ anyway.”

I put my hand over the receiver a moment to tell the cabbie that I was changing my destination. “Are you going to read out loud?” I loved listening to Tom read Shakespeare, but it meant I wouldn’t be able to pay attention to my knitting. It also meant we’d likely wind up in bed early, because I found his delivery of the fiery monologues rather arousing.

Tom laughed sheepishly. “Whether I intend to or not, I’m sure I will. Knowing I’m playing Henry, I can’t just read his part. I have to become him, or it’s sort of useless. I suppose I could keep it in my head, but I’ve never had to do it before. I’m not sure it would help me as much. I should probably stick to what I know works.”

“Okay, I’ll cope,” I said, glancing out the window to see where the cab was now. “I’ll be home in about ten minutes, and I haven’t eaten. Are you fixing dinner then?” Tom almost never cooked, but when he did it always came out well. He seemed to be good at everything he turned his hand to.

“If you’re willing to settle for my cooking, absolutely. See you soon, darling. I’m happy to get the extra evening with you.” He rang off then, presumably to get started on dinner.

I thought back over the past couple of weeks as the cab took me home. Since I’d had to work last Monday, I hadn’t been to my knitting night last week. The week before, Tom had had a sudden need for someone to read lines with him for Henry V. The week before that, Tom’s mother had called on Monday afternoon and invited us to dinner. Counting back, I realised that I hadn’t made it to Loop since Tom had returned from America. As the cab pulled up in front of the house, I found myself wondering whether I was paranoid, or whether Tom was deliberately trying to keep me from attending. It seemed unlikely and convoluted, but there it was: I hadn’t made it there in weeks, and, except for the time I had to work, it was always due to a last-minute change in plans by Tom. What I couldn’t answer was: Why?


	22. Telling Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caro gets a phone call, and perhaps a wake-up call.

“There’s a woman on the phone for you. She says she’s not a patient, but she insists she has to speak with you. She says it’s urgent.” I could hear the disapproval in Julie’s voice over the intercom. “She won’t tell me why or what it’s about. She’s very insistent.”

“Oh, put her through. If she’s a reporter, I’ll know soon enough.” Julie had gone above and beyond, screening me from the majority of calls from journalists. When simply asking to speak with me didn’t work, they tried masquerading as patients calling for consultation, which wasn’t too convincing, since my consults all came through the obstetrics department. I figured this was just a new ploy to get through to me.

“Dr Foreman.” I used my stern, make-house-staff-quake-in-their-shoes voice.

“Oh, I’m so glad I got through to you! I need to talk to you. I need to warn you about Tom.”

“I’m sorry? Who are you?” This was no reporter, unless it was one with a very unorthodox interview style.

“I’d rather not give you my name, though I will if it’s the only way you’ll believe me. I used to date Tom, when we were at Cambridge together. I left Cambridge for Edinburgh, to get away from him. He was so controlling. He wanted to know where I was every minute of the day. Oh, he was wonderful at first, but eventually he didn’t want me to spend any time with my friends. He wanted me to quit playing tennis, quit singing in the choir, quit everything that didn’t involve him, and classes, of course. He was so possessive. If another man even stopped me to ask me for directions he flew off the handle, said I must have smiled at the fellow or something. I couldn’t stand it anymore. And at the start he’d been so lovely, so kind. I couldn’t believe how he changed. I saw the photos of you last week, and the article. It sounded like you’re rather serious. I hope he’s mended his ways, but I had to find you and warn you. I suppose if you’ve been together for eight months, you’d know by now, if he hasn’t changed. I don’t know, maybe my leaving him taught him a lesson. Please tell me he doesn’t treat you like he treated me. Like he owned me.”

“Tell me your name. Just your first name is fine.” I kept my voice level, intending not to answer her in any way. Tom had told me stories about his past girlfriends, so her name should sound familiar if she was who she said she was.

“My name is Allison, but everyone calls me Allie.” She waited for me to decide whether I believed her or not. Tom had told me about Allie, only he had painted her as unstable, flighty, and eventually unfaithful. According to Tom, Allie had made such a mess of her life that she’d had to leave Cambridge in disgrace after an affair with a professor came to light. Which story was I to believe? I loved and trusted Tom, and I didn’t know this woman at all. But her story resonated somehow; I could picture a younger, less confident Tom behaving that way, to my dismay. I found myself wondering whether he’d simply refined his methods since then, but quashed the thought.

Feeling like I was betraying Tom, I explained to Allie the version of events he had told me about their relationship. She sighed.

“There’s a grain of truth there, I suppose. I felt so smothered by Tom that I started doing the things he had been accusing me of all along. I flirted outrageously with other men. I started breaking dates, standing him up, and not returning his calls. And yes, I did start a relationship with one of my professors. That was stupid, I admit. I don’t know why I didn’t simply break it off with Tom. I suppose I wanted to show him that I hadn’t been who he had accused me of being by becoming that person and making him see the difference. Maybe I wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt me with his distrust.”

“Were you afraid of him? Did he ever threaten you?”

“No. Why?”

“No reason. Just you said he was controlling, so I wondered…never mind. I need to go. Thank you for calling.” I hung up before she could say anything else.

“Julie,” I said into the intercom. “If that woman ever calls again, I’m not here.”

“Another reporter? Cheeky bastards.” She clicked off without waiting for a confirmation from me.

I rested my chin in my hands. Which of them was telling the truth? I didn’t know Allie, or her true motives in calling. She admitted that much, if not all, of what Tom had told me was true. But she claimed her behaviour was in reaction to his, not the other way around. I shook head and stood up. Why was I giving her story credence for even a moment? 

 

\-------------------------

 

“Where did you go on Thursday night?”

“To Julie’s house. I haven’t seen her outside of work in ages. Why?”

“I like to know where you are. Is that a problem?”

“Well, no, but you sound like my dad, when I was sixteen.”

Tom glared at that. “Don’t say that. I’m not your father. I’m your lover. Your partner. You knew where I was. Can’t I know where you were?”

“You were busy working. I was home, Julie called to invite me over to watch a movie and catch up. I went; I came back. Wait, how did you even know I went out? You weren’t back yet when I got home, and I didn’t mention it.” I frowned at him, confused. “How did you know I left the house Thursday night?”

Tom had the grace to look abashed. “I looked at the security tapes. I noticed you engaged the system twice on Thursday night: once when you went out, and again when you went to bed. The camera shows you leaving and coming back.”

“And you were concerned because I didn’t mention where I’d been? Tom, why don’t you trust me? Have I ever given you any reason to think I am anything but devoted to you? Have I?” I was pretty angry, but it was out of fear. _Maybe Allie was telling the truth._

“Of course I trust you, darling. I’m just stressed. I’ve been working so hard, and so have you. I’m glad you found some time to decompress and spend time with a friend.” He stood up from his chair and opened his arms to me. “I’m so lucky to have you, I tend to imagine you’ll tire of me sooner or later. The idea makes me a little crazy.” He looked so contrite, I couldn’t help but rise into his embrace. “Can you forgive me?”

“Will you promise not to monitor my every move? Stop reviewing the security tapes, Tom. There’s no point to it. Either you trust me, or you don’t.” I had to push a little, trying to see whether this apology was real.

Was that slight tightening of his mouth annoyance? It was gone as quickly as it came, and I wasn’t certain I’d actually seen it. He was so good at schooling his expressions that even I had trouble reading him sometimes.

“I promise, darling. Don’t be cross with me. I can’t bear it.”

I sighed. “I can’t stay mad when you look at me like that. Cut it out.”

“No.” He grinned. “So you forgive me?”

“Yes,” said. “I forgive you.” _But I plan to test you._


	23. In the Boardroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the series of photos of Tom Hiddleston posing by and on a large wooden table with a large window behind it.

“Dr Foreman, the chief executive wants to speak with you.” Julie had put through the call from Mr McCaulay’s administrative assistant.

“Certainly. Do you mean now?” Mr McCaulay’s tendency to forget that other people had schedules and pressing matters was legendary. “Can you tell me what he wants to talk with me about?”

“Yes, Doctor, now, and no, I don’t know. Can I inform Mr McCaulay that you are on your way, Dr Foreman?” The assistant’s tone told me that she was used to this situation, and she was only the messenger.

Ten minutes later, I was in the office of the chief executive. The man himself sat behind his enormous oak desk.

“Thank you for taking the time from your day to speak with me, Dr Foreman. I wanted to discuss the new fundraising campaign for the Premature Infant Parenting Centre. I understand that you are well-acquainted with the actor, Tom Hiddleston?”

I was given no clue as to whether he thought this was commendable or scandalous. “Yes, sir.”

“The board feels that a celebrity endorsement would help tremendously with the campaign. I understand that Mr Hiddleston is rather popular just now, and it was suggested to me that approaching him through you would be an effective way to get his support.” He looked at me expectantly.

“What exactly are you asking him to do? I’m sure he’ll need to run any proposal past his publicist.”

“I would like to ask you to set up a meeting with Mr Hiddleston and his people. Can I assume that you can convince him to at least meet with us?”

“I think so. I mean, he’ll be willing, I’m sure, unless his publicist thinks it’s a poor idea. But I can’t imagine he’ll think that. It would be good press for him as well as for the hospital.” I hoped I wasn’t overstating the probability that Luke would agree to the meeting.

“Good. My assistant will help you coordinate a meeting time, then. Thank you, Dr Foreman.” He came around the desk and shook my hand, smiling warmly. “You’re doing a great favour to the PIPC campaign.”

\------------------

“Thank you, Tom. Your participation will give our campaign a much-needed boost.”

“I’m happy to help. Thank you for agreeing to meet so late in the evening.” The executive boardroom was on the fourteenth floor, and the night sky turned the floor-to-ceiling windows to mirrors. Tom had been filming Henry V all day, but had agreed to meet with the charity campaign organizers late in the evening.

I hadn’t realised that this would be a full board meeting. Eleven board members sat around the enormous mahogany table in addition to Mr McCaulay, his assistant (whose name I still hadn’t learned), several people from the hospital’s public relations and marketing departments, Luke, Tom, and me. Coffee and dessert had been offered, and a photographer was on hand to snap a photo of Tom shaking hands with Mr McCaulay for the hospital newsletter. It was getting late; I was glad that both Tom and I had the day off tomorrow. It was getting close to Christmas, and I had a lot of shopping still to do. What to get Tom was still the biggest worry. I couldn’t put my finger on the perfect present, and really wanted to find something worthy of him. I had knit him a scarf, but I didn’t think that was enough.

I realised my thoughts were elsewhere as Tom turned and placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Ready to go, darling? It’s getting rather late, and you look tired. You’ve been working too hard lately. Let’s get you home to bed.” A few of the board members looked slightly scandalised. _What did they think I was doing there?_ I hadn’t opened my mouth the whole meeting. I’d wished I’d had the courage to bring my knitting. I still had a commission due for Christmas that needed at least ten hours’ worth of work, and I was starting to panic. _I shouldn’t worry so much about what other people think._ At least if I had brought it, I would have been an hour closer to completion on that cardigan. There’d been an awkward break a half hour ago when Tom went to the loo and had been gone longer than the five minutes or so everyone had anticipated. If I’d had my knitting, I would have had something to keep me from feeling like I had to explain his absence. Luke had attempted to communicate with me via raised eyebrows, but I had no idea what was taking Tom so long. When he returned fifteen minutes later, he apologised for keeping everyone waiting but didn’t explain. I wondered whether days of catered meals on set were upsetting his stomach, but saved my concern for later.

Tom and I had left our coats in my office, so after bidding Luke farewell, we took the lift to floor six. As soon as we entered the darkened outer office, Tom pulled me to him for a kiss.

“I have a wicked idea,” he said, a little smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “The whole time we were in that boardroom, I kept thinking about having you on that enormous table, in front of those lovely windows.” I gasped at the image his words planted in my mind. “What do you say? Let’s give them time to get cleaned up and leave, then sneak back in. Now that I’ve thought of it, I have to do it.” His lips burned on my throat. “Let me fuck you on that table,” he panted in my ear. “It’ll be delicious.”

“If they catch us, I‘ll get fired.”

“And then what? It’s not like we’ll starve without your salary, darling. And you’d find another position, easily. But we won’t get caught.” His trail of kisses brought him back to my lips, and he captured them hungrily with his.

“What if the door is locked?” I asked more because I knew Tom loved the game of convincing me, of overcoming my objections, then because I was actually worried. If the door was locked, Tom was out of luck.

“There’s no lock on the door. I looked.” His eyes bored into mine as he willed me to agree.

“Okay,” I said simply, and was rewarded with more passionate kisses. “How long should we wait?” I asked when I could speak again. I was counting on something preventing us from going through with it: Tom was wrong about the lock, or the lift would be locked out for the executive floor, or the cleaning staff would still be there.

“Oh, I think we can head back up there now. Anyway, if we don’t go right now, I’m going to have you right here on the floor, and that’s not quite as exciting, now, is it?” He grabbed my hand and pulled me back out into the hall, heading for the lift.

To my surprise, the lift took us back to the executive floor. Usually a key was required to get the lift to go there. Perhaps the cleaning staff had left it that way?

The fourteenth floor was deserted. Only every third hallway light was lit.

“Hallo!” Tom called out.

“What are you doing?” I spoke in a stage whisper despite the fact that anyone there would have heard us already.

“Might as well find out whether anyone’s here right away.” He lowered his voice. “Or would you rather have someone walk in on us while I have you spread-eagled on that table?”

Despite my firm opinion that this was a very bad idea, I was aroused by the image. I let him lead me down the hall, checking doors as he went. All of them were locked, leading me to believe that the boardroom would be as well. However, when we reached the end of the hall, Tom twisted the doorknob, and the boardroom door swung open, revealing the empty room, lights on. He chuckled at my gasp of disbelief.

“You thought it would be locked, didn’t you? You thought we couldn’t get in, so you played along, assuming you wouldn’t have to go through with it, didn’t you, Caro?” he challenged. “You said yes to this already, remember.”

“I can still say no.” I had trouble continuing eye contact, ashamed that he could read me so easily.

“Can you?” His tone was quiet, but patronising. I snapped my head back up to stare at him. He was loosening his tie and unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt. As I continued to watch him, he shrugged off his jacket and hung it and the tie on a chair, then unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, folding them back. He looked at me, expectantly. “Come on then. Up on the table.” He emphasised his direction by tapping on the table with two fingers.

I found myself moving toward him. Tom gave me a boost onto the table before kneeling down and removing my shoes. He rested his head on my thigh as his hand ran up and down the back of my other stocking-clad leg. “That’s my good girl. I know you’re nervous. I know you’re doing this to please me. Please relax, darling.”

“Aren’t you going to close the door?”

Tom pried one of my hands off the edge of the table and placed it on his cheek. “No one’s on this entire floor. With the door open, we can hear the lift if it comes back. Alright?” He placed a kiss in my palm, watching my face, waiting for my answer.

My slow nod was answered with a big, delighted grin. “I want to see your lovely pale skin against all this rich wood.” He tugged on the hem of my dress. “Take this off.”

My eyes widened at the thought of stripping in the boardroom. _You just agreed to have sex in the boardroom, Caro. What did you expect?_ I slid forward to the table edge as Tom rose to unzip the back of my dress. Standing, I let it slip off my shoulders to puddle on the floor. I hugged myself, shivering in the cool room, watching our reflection in the dark windows.

Tom lifted me back onto the table and bent to kiss me, running his hands over my arms. “Are you cold? I’ll warm you.” His kisses turned ardent as he pulled me to him, one hand cupping my arse and the other in my hair. I shut my eyes, blocking out the surroundings and letting the smell and feel of him sweep me away. His hands moved to unclasp my bra and sweep it from my shoulders. He tilted me back, placing his hot mouth on one cold-hardened nipple. As my back met the hard wood of the table, Tom lifted my hips to pull my panties down as far as the garters would let them go. Continuing to lavish attention on my breasts with his mouth and one hand, he slid the other gently between my legs. Finding me wet, he pressed two fingers deep inside, making me moan and wrap my legs around his thighs. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his breath hot on my throat. “Make some noise.” His slippery fingers moved to my clit, and I cried out at the sensation, tugging on his hair to bring his face to mine.

He hovered just out of reach for a moment, watching me with evident satisfaction. Then his lips crashed into mine, overwhelming me with his taste and his demanding tongue as he increased the speed of his fingers’ maddening dance. He swallowed my sounds as I came, keening into his kiss, arching off the table. When I collapsed back down, sighing, Tom smiled. “Time for me to join you up there, darling.”

Straightening up, Tom unwound my legs from his and pushed me further back on the table. He kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt, then unfastened his trousers. Placing one knee on the edge of the table between my legs, he mounted the table. “A bit more in the middle, I think,” he said thoughtfully, patting my leg. I moved a little further away from the edge. “There, that’s good.”

Pushing his trousers and pants down, Tom held his cock in one hand while pulling one of my ankles up to his shoulder with the other. “I want to watch you while I fuck you in the middle of your boss’s table. I want to see how much you love me, that you’ll do this for me, even though you’re scared of being caught. Even though you think it’s wrong.” He slid his cock in suddenly, his eyes still on mine. “You’ll do anything for me, won’t you, Caro?”

Before I could answer, Tom started slamming into me, rocking his hips forward with such force that he pushed me several inches across the table. Growling, Tom gripped my hips and changed his angle slightly, directing his thrusts down, trying to keep me still. I glanced to the side at our reflection in the windows; he looked as magnificent and powerful from that angle as he did up close. My nervousness warred with my arousal. I wanted him to hurry up and finish so that we could leave; I wanted him to be inside me forever.

“We should find more places to have sex where we could get caught,” Tom said through gritted teeth. “You’re so fucking tight when you’re tense.” He lowered my leg, wrapping it around his waist, and leaned forward to kiss me. “Wrap your legs around me, hard,” he whispered. When I squeezed his waist, he murmured, “Oh god, yes,” and changed his rhythm, switching to long, deep thrusts, filling me completely, pressing in for an extra moment at the end of every one. He rested his weight on one forearm, the other hand claiming a breast as he buried his face in my throat. I could hear his breathing growing ragged as he neared his climax. His hips picked up speed again and I gripped his shoulders tightly to keep from being pushed along the table. As he came, he set his teeth into the skin on the side of my neck, but didn’t bite down. He groaned and shuddered as he pushed himself into me with one final thrust, then collapsed on top of me, his breathing heavy in my ear.

After a moment, he raised his head and grinned. “Well, that was fun.” He pushed himself off of me, sliding out and tucking himself back into his boxers as he pulled them and his trousers up. Once he’d refastened his belt, he offered me a hand up.

After I pulled my panties back up, it was much easier to slide back to the edge of the table. Tom found my bra and helped me get dressed. 

“There, darling, see? If anyone walked in now, we’d just say you left your purse or something, and we came back to look for it.” He lifted my chin for a chaste kiss. “I love you, Caro. Stop worrying, please.”

I managed a small smile. “Let’s get out of here, okay? I’ll feel better when we’re back where we’re supposed to be.”

Later that night, while Tom slept, I lay awake thinking. I was still on edge; I felt we’d gone too far. Every time Tom had pushed me before, he had only pushed my boundaries. This time, what we’d done was, if not illegal, possibly damaging to my career and reputation. I couldn’t relax for thinking about it. It seemed that we’d gotten away with it, but the ease with which we’d gotten in to the boardroom nagged at me. Was there something we’d missed?

\------------------

“Mr McCaulay wishes to speak with you, Dr Foreman.”

“Now?” I knew what the answer would be, but I asked anyway.

“Yes, Dr Foreman.”

My Monday was packed with consults and meetings, but when the chief executive beckoned, it behoved one to listen. I left Julie to deal with the scheduling and headed to the fourteenth floor.

Stepping off the lift, I blushed as I caught sight of the boardroom door. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I approached Mr McCaulay’s office.

“Go right in, Dr Foreman.” His assistant was waiting for me, and shut the door to the office firmly behind me.

Mr McCauley stood at his office window, his back to me. There was an extra computer monitor on his desk in addition to his work station.

“Dr Foreman, I would like you to watch this video.”

My blood ran cold and my stomach turned over. I thought I knew what I was about to see.

Mr McCaulay clicked the mouse on his computer and the extra monitor sprang to life. The view was of the door to the boardroom, from above and several metres away. I realised that the camera must be mounted just above the door to this office. On the screen, Tom and I approached the door, and Tom opened it. The view through the door included the centre of the table. I watched enough to realise that the spot that Tom had chosen for me to sit on the edge of the table was squarely in frame.

“Stop, please,” I said as levelly as possible. The picture froze with Tom’s hand poised to unzip my dress. I forced myself to look up at Mr McCaulay.

“Do you have anything to say, Dr Foreman?”

“Will it make any difference?”

“No, Doctor, I’m afraid not.”

I nodded, and waited.

“You are immediately suspended on full pay, pending an investigation, which will be completely confidential. Should you wish to look elsewhere for employment, I can assure you that your references will be impeccable. I will respectfully ask you to leave the premises as soon as possible and speak to no one about this.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” I turned to go.

“Oh, and, Dr Foreman?” 

I tensed, bracing for a prurient comment. What he said instead was, “Please inform Mr Hiddleston that we will no longer be requiring his assistance, either.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” My face burning, I opened the door and left the office without looking at the assistant, whom I was sure knew what had transpired. Once in the hall, I looked up and saw the camera. _How had we missed that?_

\------------------

Ignoring Julie’s questions, I strode into the office that was soon to be no longer mine, and shut the door. I knew Tom was filming and wouldn’t have his mobile on him, so I called Luke. I explained that I needed to get hold of Tom urgently, impressing Luke that it really was that important, and no, I couldn’t share it with him. I knew he’d find out something was up eventually, since the hospital was going to cancel their engagement of Tom as a charity ambassador, but I hoped we didn’t wind up having to share the details with him.

Twenty long minutes later, my mobile rang.

“What is it, Caro? I’m holding up filming.”

“I have just been fired.”

“What? Why?”

“There was a camera, Tom. There was a camera in the hall, pointed at the door to the boardroom. The door that you insisted we leave open.”

“So they know that we went in, I still don’t see—”

“No, Tom. The camera looks through the doorway. Everything we did was recorded.”

“Oh. Oh my God.”

“Yeah, exactly. Anyway, you’re fired too, not that it matters. I’m going home.”

“Caro, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Really. I never meant for this to happen. I’ll make it up to you.”

“I don’t see how you can,” I said softly, and closed my phone. I didn’t look at the texts that followed. I just needed to get my things packed and leave by noon.

\------------------ 

As soon as I got home, I showered and went to bed. It was the middle of the afternoon, but all I wanted to do was sleep so that I didn’t have to think of the mess I was in. Why had I agreed to do something so stupid for a thrill? The answer, of course, was ‘because Tom wanted me to do it.’ Obviously, letting Tom push the boundaries of what I felt comfortable doing had gotten out of hand. Regardless of the fact that it had been his idea, I blamed myself. He had questioned whether I could refuse him, but of course I could have. _Couldn’t I?_

When I awoke, it was almost four. I didn’t really feel like getting out of bed, but I thought I should eat something, having skipped lunch. I shuffled into the kitchen in my robe and made some tea and toast. I felt like I had the flu: nauseated and tired.

I checked my phone. I had fourteen texts and three voice messages, all from Tom or Julie. I had snuck out of the office with what I could carry while Julie was getting lunch, leaving a note to send my books along. I’d spent most of my remaining allowed time on the premises removing personal files from my computer rather than packing boxes I couldn’t carry.

Tom’s texts grew increasingly worried over the course of the day, culminating in a voice message begging me to get in contact with him. I sent him a text, figuring that he was only able to check for messages intermittently, so there was little chance he’d be able to answer a call. I wasn’t feeling chatty, anyway.

 

\-- I’m home. –Caro

 

Needing to take my mind off the situation and the inevitably unpleasant conversation Tom and I would have when he got home, I popped _Noises Off!_ into the DVD player and snuggled into the couch with a blanket and a gin and tonic.

Tom got home just as John Ritter fell down the stairs. I kept my eyes on the screen as he took off his coat and shoes and walked around the couch to stand in front of me. He looked concerned and sad as I stared blankly back at him. He took the remote from the cushion next to me and paused the movie. Then he knelt down and gathered me in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and the tears I’d been holding back escaped, first silently overflowing, then in wracking sobs. I cried for what felt like hours, until I was just empty. My head was full of white noise. I pulled back from Tom’s embrace and just looked at him.

“What can I do for you?”

I took a good look at him for the first time since he’d arrived. His cheeks and nose were chapped from the cold, and his lips were dry. His hands rested on my forearms, his knuckles cracked, the skin abraded.

“What are they doing to you? Let me get you some lotion.” I moved to get up, but he blocked me.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get some cream later. Would you please let me take care of you?”

I hung my head. He pulled my chin back up and made me meet his eyes.

“I know you’re hurting. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I got fired. But you weren’t fired because you’re not good at what you do. You’ll get another job, and it will be even better than this one. Or you’ll do something else. I believe in you.” He placed a small kiss on my lips, his beard rubbing my chin. “But you should take a break first. You work so hard. Take some time off. You know you don’t have to worry about money.”

I shrugged. “I’ll think about it. I can’t decide anything right now. I’m too upset.” I dropped my forehead to his shoulder. “Why did we do that? It wasn’t worth it, Tom. I lost my fucking job, and for what? I should have said no. Just because you thought of it didn’t mean I had to go along with it. I’m not saying it’s your fault. But why did it ever seem like a good idea?” I was ready to cry again, but Tom slid his hands to my shoulders and squeezed.

“Look at me, Caro. I know you went along with it to please me. I know it was my idea. It’s how we are: I lead, and you follow. It was really irresponsible of me to suggest it, and I’m sorry. Please, let me take care of you. Let me make it up to you.”

“I don’t know what that means, Tom. Unless you can erase that recording and get my job back.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right, I can’t do that. But I can love you and pamper you and give you the time to sort out what you want to do next. You’ve been working nonstop your whole life. Have you ever taken more than two weeks’ holiday since you left university?” I shook my head. “Take some time to relax, darling. Don’t rush right out to find another position. I know I’m busy with the Henriad, but we’ll find some weekends to get away. All right?” 

His eyes implored me to agree, and I nodded. I still didn’t know what I was going to do, but the default at the moment was to sit on the couch and cry.


	24. It's a Small World

I passed through the next few months in a fog. The ‘investigation’ into Tom’s and my misuse of the boardroom table ended with my being allowed to resign. I received what was probably a rather generous severance package given the circumstances, and Mr McCaulay, Tom, and I all signed a non-disclosure agreement. No one wanted a scandal. I was assured that the recording was destroyed, though I had no way to confirm it. My references would remain impeccable, if and when I applied for another position.

Christmas and both of our birthdays went by without much fanfare. Tom was so busy with rehearsing and filming that he got little sleep. He was consumed with doing the part of Henry justice. Despite his earlier assurances that we’d get away, there were no Sunday adventures, no notes on my pillow telling me where to be at a certain hour. Life settled into a routine that could almost have been boring, if it weren’t for the random reminders that my partner was a movie star. Some nights we could go out unnoticed; on others we met fans at every turn. Tom was always gracious, no matter how tired he was, signing autographs and posing for pictures while I hung back and waited for him.

Every time I suggested that perhaps it was time for me to start looking in earnest for a new position, Tom gave me a reason why I should wait a little longer: I should relax, I should think about whether I wanted to take my career in a new direction, and, eventually, I should wait because soon it would be time for the insanely scheduled Avengers worldwide premiere tour. Tom wanted me to come along, and then he wanted us to take a holiday afterward. Obviously if I had recently started a new job, I couldn’t take a month off. So, following the law of inertia, I stayed at rest.

For someone at leisure, I kept pretty busy. I took on more knitting commissions and revamped my website. I cleaned the house from top to bottom, despite having Tom tell me just to hire someone. I thought about doing some volunteer work, but never actually got started. I spent almost every evening with Tom, unless he was filming. I made it to my knitting group on occasion, but more often not, for the same reason that I had been avoiding Julie. I didn’t want to answer questions about why I had quit my job so abruptly. My world had gotten smaller.

\---------------------

“Who made this schedule?” I waved the Avengers itinerary in the air. “LA, Moscow, London, Rome, Berlin, NYC, Toronto? We won’t know whether it’s night or day.”

Tom sighed. “I have no idea how they coordinate these things. We’ll manage.” He took the paper out of my hand and placed it on the table as he drew me into his arms. “I won’t care whether it’s night or day, as long as I have you with me. Besides, I’ve been wanting to take you to Rome. The other locations are a bonus.”

I laid my head on his chest. “Do you think we can see my folks while we’re in New York? It’s only about three hours away.”

Tom rubbed my back. “Let me see if I can get out of going to the Toronto premiere. Then we should have enough time to visit your parents.”

Looking up, I asked, “Can you do that? I thought you were committed to being at all the premieres.”

He smiled confidently. “Leave it to me.”

\-----------------------

“We only get two days here after the premiere? But I wanted to see so many things in LA.”

“We’ll come back someday. Besides, I can’t imagine I won’t ever make a movie in Hollywood again.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ll get to spend time here.”

“I should hope it does. I’m sorry, love. We’ll come back. I promise.”

“Can we at least get to the Walk of Fame?”

“Any free time I have is at your disposal.”

“What have you got free? Like, an hour tomorrow?” I laughed, looking over Tom’s interview schedule. It looked like the cast was to be stationed in rooms and serially interrogated like murder suspects by a long line of entertainment reporters.

“I’m sorry, darling. I’m booked solid.”

I pouted. “I think you only brought me as your valet and bed warmer.”

“But you’re the best valet and bed warmer in the history of the world. How could I leave you at home?” Tom’s wicked grin signalled that he was only agreeing in order to push my buttons.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Now there’s a look for the cameras.”

I stamped my foot.

“Very lady-like, Caro. Should I throw you over my knee like a wayward child and spank you?” His smirk was rendered particularly evil by the look in his eyes.

“Do we really have time for that, darling?” I affected his accent and cadence back at him, making him laugh.

“Unfortunately not. Remind me to chastise you properly later.” He punctuated this with a suggestive leer as he pulled me to him.

I grinned. “I’ll make a note of it in your itinerary, sir.”

“Yes, do that,” he answered just before he kissed me.

\-----------------------

An annoying noise that turned out to be the telephone jolted me out of a deep sleep.

Tom rolled away from me and answered the phone with an affirmative-sounding grunt. After hanging up, he groaned. “What fucking time is it?”

“Never mind that. Come back here. What day is it?”

After thinking back over the hours and hours of travel between Los Angeles and Moscow, Tom decided it was 16 April. “So the premiere isn’t until tomorrow evening.”

“Wake me then,” I groaned and pulled the covers back over my head. 

Inexplicably, daylight impinged on my eyes once again. “Get up, Caro. If you spend all your time in Moscow in the hotel, you’ll kick yourself later.”

“All right, all right, I’m up. But I’m not eating any borscht.”

While Tom was in the shower, I checked my messages. There was a voice mail from Julie. “I have a letter for you. It was left at the office, slipped under the door. There’s nothing on the envelope but your name. I haven’t opened it. Call me when you’re back. We’ll have coffee and I’ll bring it to you. I miss you. I hope you’re having fun, international jet-setter. Bye.”

I wondered who had sent the letter, but had little to go on. Maybe it was from Allie? I had told Julie to block her calls, so maybe she had tried this as the only way to get in touch with me? I had to admit that the letter could be from practically anyone who knew where I worked but didn’t know where I lived or have my private mobile number. I shrugged and put it out of my mind, starting to choose clothes for the day. I’d be back in London in two days, and I’d try to meet up with Julie then, while Tom was busy with interviews and photo calls.

\-------------------------

“Tell me again why we’re in a hotel.”

“If we go back home, we’ll unpack. We’ll find things we need to do or fix or clean. We’ll ring friends and they’ll want to make plans. We’re only in London for two days, darling. We have to pretend it’s just another city we’re visiting.”

“I’d really like to see Julie. I haven’t talked to her in ages.”

“No time, love.”

I sighed. “Really? What about while you’re doing interviews?”

“I don’t want to have to look for you, love. You know that everyone makes spur-of-the-moment plans after the interviews are over. You don’t want to keep everyone waiting, do you?”

I sighed. “No, I suppose not. Anyway, a night in our own bed would have been so nice after a week of travelling.”

“That’s true. But what does our bed have that this one doesn’t?”

I considered the king-sized hotel bed, covered in luxurious sheets, a mountain of pillows, and the plushest duvet I’d ever seen.

“Um, a wet spot on my side?”

Tom doubled over laughing, eventually staggering over to me with tears running down his face. He tackled me me and flopped us both onto the bed.

“We can fix that, you know,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes before kissing me through a residual giggle.

“Why is the wet spot always on my side, anyway?” I couldn’t keep from smiling; Tom’s laugh was always infectious.

“Because I’m more devious than you.” Tom started tickling me, making me shriek and squirm under him.

There was a knock at the door. Tom and I both groaned in frustration.

“Yes?” Tom called out, loud enough to be heard through the door.

“Joss wants everyone to go out to dinner,” Luke called out. “We’re meeting in twenty minutes.”

Tom winked at me. “Can you make it thirty?”

“Yeah, okay, I guess.” Luke sounded a little unsure, but Tom didn’t give him time to backtrack.

“Thanks, man! See you in thirty.” He turned back to me. “Can you get ready to go out in ten minutes?” His tone was urgent.

“I think so. Why?”

“Because I need to have you right now, that’s why. Think we can both get off in twenty minutes?” His evil grin said that he meant to try, and his hips grinding into mine showed me how ready he was.

I answered him by kissing the grin off his face, my mouth demanding, my hips rising to meet his. He groaned appreciatively and slid his hands inside my blouse.

“Damn these buttons and hooks. Take your clothes off, darling. Hurry.” Unaware that there would be a need for rapid undressing, I had worn a blouse that closed with many tiny buttons on the sleeves and hook and eye closures up the front. By the time I got the top off, Tom was standing by the bed naked, a sight I never tired of.

I paused, staring, probably with a stupid grin on my face.

“What, Caro?” One eyebrow rose as he stood there, hands on his trim hips, legs set wide apart as usual, his cock at full mast. You know ‘what,’ you arrogant bastard.

“You’re beautiful,” I said simply, because it was true.

His face softened at my tone. “I only care that you think so, darling.” He knelt in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed and tugged at my skirt. “Off, love. Time’s a-wasting.” I reached behind my waist to unbutton the skirt, and he pulled it off me together with my pants.

As his hands rose from the floor, they were suddenly everywhere on my body, stroking, teasing, inflaming me. “You’re the beautiful one, darling,” he whispered in my ear, his lips just brushing my earlobe. I clung to him, enjoying the sudden flurry of sensations. Tom pushed me back on the bed, but then immediately rolled us over so that I was on top of him.

“Our time is limited, darling. Let’s do this together.” He snaked a hand down between us and stroked between my legs. “Are you ready to take me? I’ll start slow.”

I nodded and raised myself up on my knees, straddling his hips. Tom guided his shaft to my opening as I lowered myself back down, slowly taking him in, feeling him stretch me until he was fully inside.

“Is that all right?” I nodded. Tom licked the first two fingers of his right hand, his eyes on mine. “Lean forward, darling. I want to kiss you.” My breasts brushed his chest as I leant down, placing my weight on my hands to either side of his head. Tom’s arm was between us, his wet fingers on my clit. As he began to rub me, I started to move. The dual sensations of having Tom stimulate me both inside and out were amazing. At first, we kissed passionately, but as Tom brought me closer to orgasm, I buried my forehead in his shoulder, my breath coming in gasps. “Come for me, Caro,” he breathed in my ear. “Let me feel you come on my cock.”

His words tipped me over the edge, and I came, clenching around him, calling out his name. “Oh, god, you feel so good,” he growled as he grasped my hips with both hands and pumped his hips up into me again and again. I pushed up enough to watch his face as ecstasy overtook him, lighting him from within as he came, a beatific angel in his pleasure.

As he relaxed, he opened his eyes and favoured me with a sunny smile before glancing over at the clock on the bedside table. “And what was that, eighteen minutes? Now we have twelve to get ready.” He patted my arse. “Go, go, go!”

\-----------------

“Rome is so romantic.”

“This hardly counts as a trip to Rome. We’re only here for two days.”

“It’s a taste. We’ll come back.”

“We’re going to have a lot of travelling to do to keep all these promises you’re making to me.”

“It’s not like we have a deadline.”

I looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

He smiled and stopped walking, drawing me back to him by the hand that was intertwined with his. Pedestrians flowed around us like water, uncaring and unheeding of the obstacle we presented in the middle of the sidewalk. “We have all the time in the world. We could go to LA this summer, Rome in the fall, Greece next year. Where ever we want, whenever we like. Especially if you don’t go back to the sort of schedule you had before. Wouldn’t it be nice to just pick up and go somewhere whenever I have a few days or weeks between projects?” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my fingertips, watching my face.

“I guess...what would I do the rest of the time, though?” I realised he was asking me to give up my career so that I could be at his beck and call. Not that frequent foreign holidays sounded like a chore, but if I agreed not to look for a new job, it would represent a huge shift in my sense of who I was and what I was doing with my life.

“Why, anything you like, darling. Freedom is initially scarier than constraint. Nothing to resist, nothing to hold you back. It dares you with a question: “What do you want to do?” as opposed to “What do you have to do?”  
I’ll support you, whatever you choose.”

“What if what I want to do is what I was doing?” I hadn’t loved every part of my job, but it was what I’d chosen to do with my life. I hadn’t stopped doing it voluntarily, and I had assumed that I would find another similar position eventually.

He frowned. “You want to work over sixty hours per week, slog through paperwork, and get no sleep? You were tired and stressed, darling. You’re so much more relaxed since you left the hospital.”

I wasn’t certain ‘relaxed’ was the best word for how I’d been feeling since I had been forced to resign. I slept a lot more, and spent more time doing nothing of consequence. This was more due to feelings of lassitude and aimlessness than to being ‘more relaxed.’ Of course I had tried to hide my depressive symptoms from Tom; I didn’t want him to feel any guiltier than he already did for his role in my disgrace at work.

It had already been four months since the day I was essentially fired. While I had polished up my resume, I hadn’t actually started to look for a new position. Every time I thought about it, imagining the questions an interviewer would inevitably ask stopped me: “Why did you leave your prior position?” and, “What have you been doing in the interim?” The longer I waited, the more I dreaded answering that second question, but it was the first that really paralysed me. I felt ashamed, stupid, and trapped. I didn’t want to burden Tom with my feelings of inadequacy, so I kept my doubts and misgivings to myself, while still insisting that one day soon I would look for a new job in neonatology.

Rather than communicating any of this to Tom on a public street, I tilted my head. “I can’t relax forever,” I answered. “I need to find something to do, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Do you know how many people would love to lead a life of leisure? You’re amazing, darling. I’m proud of how driven you are. Just think about what you want to focus on, because the sky’s the limit. Your sky, your limit.”

“I’ll think about it.” I squeezed his hands. “Let’s go. We have so little time in Rome, and I want to see the Basilica.”

\---------------------

“Ich bin ein Berliner!”

Tom laughed at me, his tongue poking out in that adorable way of his, as I stood on the balcony of our hotel room and gave a lame impression of JFK.

“Oh good,” he said, scooping me into an embrace. “I love jelly doughnuts.”

“Silly boy,” I said, giving him a kiss. “So, did you get an answer about Toronto?”

“Yes, that was Luke who rang just now. I’ve got out of it. He wasn’t too keen at first, but I explained that visiting your parents while we were in New York was very important to me. I’m sure he’ll take it out of my hide somehow. He’ll sign me up for something painful and hideous, like auctioning off a lunch with me for charity. I’ll gladly pay the price, though, to make you happy.” He put on an overdone long-suffering look, making me giggle.

Tom turned me around then, and I and saw the sun setting over the city, the light orange and pink against the clouds.

He rested his chin on top of my head, his arms wrapped around me. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“I’d like to go back and see some things I saw years ago, see how they’ve changed. I came here when I was sixteen, just for a week. I’ll look at a map and let you know.”

“Anything you wish, love.”

\-----------------------

“God, I love New York!” It was good to be somewhere familiar, even if it wasn’t really home. The noise and the lights were oddly soothing after another week of foreign travel. I knew I’d get see some people I hadn’t in a long time too, including my parents. We’d be here for six days, so I hoped to pack a lot in.

“It’s not London, but it’ll do.” Tom’s tone said that he was teasing me.

“Some people think New York is the centre of the universe, you know,” I countered.

“Some people are wrong. London is the place to be. And I win this argument, because we live there.”

“Not that we’re there much lately.” I suddenly felt tired. This was going to be an incredibly long day. We’d arrived from Berlin mid-afternoon, and with the time difference, today was going to be thirty hours long. The fastest way to beat jet lag was to power through it, though, so no naps were allowed. We were walking aimlessly around Soho for something to do, window-shopping and holding hands.

Tom stopped in a doorway and pulled me to face him. “After we get back from Maui, I promise we’ll stay home for a bit. I don’t have to travel for work again until July. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed, meeting him halfway for a kiss. “Maybe when we get back, I can put out some resumes. I think I’m finally ready to get back to a schedule.”

Tom winced. “Are you sure you want to do that now, darling? Things are going to continue to be hectic with my career. It would be so nice to have you there as my anchor, to know I can count on you to be there when I come home. And you’d be able to come on location with me without having to beg for a holiday.”

I stared at him. “What happened to you supporting my decision, whatever it was?”

“I honestly didn’t think you’d choose to go back to the long hours and the thankless paperwork. You can do anything, darling. I’m sure there are loads of things you’d love to do that you never had the time for. When I said I’d support you, I not only meant I’ll stand by you; I also meant you don’t have to work. Doesn’t it make more sense, darling, than both of us working all the time?”

“You want me to stay home, permanently? I’ve never really thought of that as an option.” I tilted my head, frowning. “I’ve worked so hard to get where I am—where I was, anyway.” Tom looked embarrassed, so I hurried on. “You want me to turn my back on that? What I’ve worked for my whole adult life? If I don’t keep up with it, I’ll never be able to go back. What if I need to, someday?”

It was Tom’s turn to frown. “What do you mean, ‘if you need to, someday’?”

“Tom, you’re asking me to become entirely dependent on you, financially. What if—what if we’re not always together? I’ll have abandoned my career…”

Tom cut me off by kissing me hard, delving into my mouth as though to eat my words. I was breathless when he pulled back just enough to speak, his tone urgent. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that, Caro. You’re mine, and you always will be. I will always take care of you.” He kissed me again before I could reply.

A sudden rapping sound startled us both. The owner of the shop in whose doorway we stood made shooing motions at us, his face disapproving. Grinning, Tom drew me back out onto the sidewalk, where the crowds of Soho swallowed us up.

\-----------------------------

While my parents had a guestroom, Tom insisted that we stay in a hotel. “You said the house is small. We don’t need to be in their way.” I didn’t argue. After travelling with Tom, I was used to more space than my parents’ guest room would provide, and the extra cost didn’t faze him in the slightest.

My mother had made the most of the two days we were able to spend in my hometown. The first evening, she cooked dinner, just for the four of us. Tom heaped high praise on her beef brisket, which frankly she deserved. My parents regaled him with embarrassing stories from my childhood, and hauled out the photo albums. I thought that if I rolled my eyes one more time, they would fall out of my head. Tom charmed my parents, of course, with his excellent manners, his good humour, and his infectious laugh. In some ways, I was amazed, since my mother had always raised an eyebrow whenever I dated ‘artsy types.’ Then again, everyone loved Tom.

The next day, we met back at my parents’ house for brunch, along with a variety of their friends and neighbours. Tom held court, telling stories about filming The Avengers and extracting more stories about my youth from those who knew me then. I was asked how we’d met, and what it was like dating a famous actor. I was glad when everyone went home but for a few close friends of my parents.

As I sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of tea to look at the photos of children I’d babysat who were now in college, my father announced that he hadn’t realised they were so low on milk, and he was off to get some. Tom volunteered to go with him, and they trooped out the door.

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” my old neighbour said after they’d left. “You father and your boyfriend?” She grinned.

“Tom can talk to anyone, about anything,” I assured her. “I’m not too worried.”

“Ah, but what will he choose to talk about? Not the weather, I’ll bet.”

“Pffft.” I dismissed her insinuating tone. I pointed at the photo in her hand. “How old is Bobby now?”

\-----------------------

Heading back to New York on a late train that night, I broached the subject. “So, what did you and Dad talk about on your quest for milk?”

Tom smiled without looking up from his book. “Oh, things.”

“What things?”

“This and that.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I folded my arms and slumped down in my seat.

“Nope.”

“Fine, be that way.”

He finally looked up. “You’re adorable when you pout, you know that?”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Right as usual, dear.” He was trying very hard to keep a straight face. I stuck my tongue out at him, knowing it would make him laugh. It did. I moved from the seat opposite to slide under the arm he offered. I spent the rest of the train ride simply enjoying being near him as he returned to his book.

\----------------------

“I think I’m going to need three days to figure out what day it is.”

“You don’t need to know what day it is. Just lie on the beach.”

I grinned. “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

Tom pulled me close and kissed me. “Do you know what I like best about coming to Maui?”

“Fruity drinks with umbrellas served by nubile young maidens?”

“No. What I like best about being here is that it’s just you and me. A circle of two. No obligations, no phone calls. Just us.”

“We didn’t have to come this far to get that, did we? Not that I mind white sand and perfect weather.”

“I like knowing we’re halfway around the word from home. Nobody knows us. There’s no schedule. We can do whatever we want.”

“So what should we do first?” I tried to stifle a yawn. I was exhausted. Tom could sleep on planes, but I couldn’t.

He looked at me closely. “I know you’re tired, but I’d really love to hit the beach. How about we rent an umbrella and you can nap if you like. I want to see if I can spot any whales.”

“If you promise to make sure I don’t get burnt, you’ve got a deal.”

\------------------

Five idyllic days passed during which we packed in an amazing amount of nothing. We lay on the beach, went snorkelling, and took long walks. Even our lovemaking was relaxed and unhurried.

The night before our flight home, Tom suggested we take a walk on the beach after dinner. We left our shoes behind and strolled hand in hand down to the water’s edge. My dress was short enough that the spray didn’t threaten it, but Tom had to roll the cuffs of his trousers up to avoid soaking them.

We walked in companionable silence for a time, listening to the sound of the surf. As we rounded a bend, a path wound up from the beach to the rocky cliff above. Tom turned up it, tugging on my hand to urge me to follow him. When we reached the top, I saw a table set near the edge of the cliff. On it sat two wineglasses and an open bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. The sun was just starting to set over the ocean, lighting the horizon on fire.

Tom went to the table and poured the champagne. He handed me one of the flutes. “To us,” he said simply. We each took a sip, and then he took my glass back, setting both of them on the table. To my astonishment, he dropped to one knee on the ground in front of me.

“Caro, before I met you, I never believed I’d find a woman I wanted to wake up to every morning. I love you, and I need you with me, always. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you please do me the honour of becoming my wife?” His eyes implored me over the ring he held up between two fingers. The surf crashed below, and a bird called from somewhere nearby.

I hesitated, and I didn’t know why. We were practically married already. I loved him, and frankly I had been a little surprised that he hadn’t proposed before now, given his constant talk of how I belonged to him. I suddenly realised that I had felt that I could walk out the door any time he demanded too much, like the night in Cleveland when he had choked me during sex until I passed out. I thought I had forgiven him, since that had been over six months ago, and he hadn’t done anything even remotely like that since. _What more do you want, Caro? Look around at what he’s done for you. Look at him. He changed for you._ I took a deep breath as Tom began to look panicked by my silence.

“Yes, Tom.” I winced inwardly at the echo of his favourite submissive refrain. “Of course I’ll marry you.” _Let him think you were simply stunned._

The smile that lit up Tom’s face was breathtaking as he slid the diamond ring onto the ring finger of my left hand. He kissed the back of my hand and then rose, drawing me into a tender kiss. “Thank you, darling. Thank you.”

He drew me to the cliff’s edge, and we sipped champagne while watching the sun finish setting into the ocean.

“It may be a little old-fashioned,” he said. “But when I went out with your father in the car, I asked him for his permission and his blessing.”

I laughed. “That is old-fashioned, especially since I’ve been married before. I think that makes me my own woman, don’t you?”

He squeezed my shoulders in a sideways hug as we continued to look out over the ocean. “That’s as may be, but you’re my woman now.”


	25. Wide Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future readers: please note that this chapter was posted on 7 August 2012. From this point onward I am writing in the future, and so could not match fictional events to real ones. I didn't think it was necessary, and anyway would have required waiting months to finish the story.

As soon as we returned from Maui, Tom had Luke release the news of our engagement to the papers. It was as though he needed it to be publically known. I couldn’t imagine that anyone who didn’t know us personally would care, but Tom said I was naive. “If we control the flow of information, then no one can claim they have an exclusive. It cuts down on misinformation if we simply send a press release and don’t make them dig.”

Tom pressed me to set a date in the next few months. “I never know what projects I’ll be offered, and I don’t want to have to turn down something fantastic because of our wedding.” Tom knew his commitments through the end of the year, so we chose 18 November. The date being only six months away, planning kicked into high gear. In all the excitement, I shelved my plan to seek out a new job. Maybe I’d send out resumes after the honeymoon.

Julie was excited to be helping with the planning, and she was to be my maid of honour. She had given me the letter she’d mentioned upon my return, but I hadn’t opened it. If it was from Allie, I didn’t need any more of her poison. However Tom had behaved in the past, he had changed. He had really taken my request to stop pushing my physical limits to heart. He was still possessive, but that was one of the things I loved about him. I must have been mistaken when I thought I saw him smirk that night in Cleveland. I had tucked the letter into my favourite knitting book in my studio. While I was too intrigued to destroy it, it wouldn’t do to have Tom find it and read it.

In July, I accompanied Tom to Detroit, of all places, where he was filming _Only Lovers Left Alive,_ mostly at night. He was tolerant of the fans who discovered our hotel, posing for photos and giving autographs, but I stayed out of sight. I could walk through the lobby alone unnoticed, but avoided being seen with Tom, since I didn’t want to deal with any negative fan reactions to his engagement. According to Luke, most of the responses seemed positive, but there were some vocal, unhappy fans. I couldn’t get my head around why they felt that way about a person they didn’t actually know.

After a stop by my parents’ house and a few days at home in London, it was off to Cologne for more filming. Aside from groups of fans waiting for him outside the studio, Tom was able to lay low there, and we were able to relax and walk down the street hand in hand. The weather was nicer there too, and I was actually sad to leave.

After filming was finally finished in Tangiers, Tom had to be back in London to film his parts for _Thor 2._ It was nice to be home after so much travelling. Tom’s filming schedule wasn’t heavy, and he resurrected his old game of luring me to romantic trysts with notes and text messages. A picnic on Hampstead Heath, a stroll through Highgate Cemetery, and a day at the V &A Museum occupied three consecutive Sundays.

On 29 September, I awoke expecting to find the note that lay on Tom’s pillow. He always got up early to run and let me sleep in. I took my exercise later in the day, usually swimming, but sometimes a yoga class or a bike ride. I couldn’t wait to find out what Tom had planned for us today.

**Darling,**

**If you would, meet me at –address-- at 10:30. Wear loose-fitting clothing.**

**Love,**

**Tom**

When I arrived at the address, I wondered whether Tom had made a mistake when he wrote the street number down. I alighted from the taxi to find myself standing in front of a tattoo parlour. I looked up and down the street, expecting to see Tom waiting in front of another shop somewhere along the row. My confusion only increased when the door of the tattoo parlour opened and Tom beckoned me inside.

I looked around to find the shop empty but for the proprietor and the two of us. Once again, Tom had convinced someone to open their business earlier than their usual hours. Needing to know what Tom was planning, I asked him outright. “You’re planning on getting a tattoo? Won’t that impact your casting possibilities?”

Smiling, Tom took my elbow and led me to a table in the middle of the shop. On the table sat a piece of paper with a small drawing. Tom picked up the paper and showed it to me. I saw his initials on it, somewhat stylised but quite legible. He slid his free hand up my back to rest between the tops of my shoulder blades.

“A wedding ring can be removed, or lost. I want you to have something permanent, something that proclaims to the world that you’re mine.” He moved behind me and kissed the spot he’d been caressing. “I think right here would be perfect. Not too showy, but put your hair up and wear a nice dress, and everyone can see it when we go out together.” He wrapped his arms around me, dropping his words to a whisper. “And of course, when I fuck you from behind, I’ll be able to see my claim on you... that thought turns me on so much.” He stopped speaking and kissed me just under my right ear.

Turning about, I pushed him back a little so that I could look him in the face. “I don’t want a tattoo. If I did, I would have one by now. And I’ve already agreed to marry you. I’m wearing your ring. That’s enough of a claim on me, surely? It’s enough for most people.”

Undaunted, Tom kissed me, probably hoping to distract and redirect me. “We aren’t most people, darling, are we?” he said when he broke the kiss.

“Are you going to get a tattoo of my initials? You’re mine, too, after all.” I decided to take a different tack. I had no intention of agreeing to the tattoo. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tattoo artist sidle out of the room, leaving us in privacy for our argument.

“As you said, darling, it might affect my film prospects.”

“I know I said that, but there are plenty of actors with tattoos. Depp, Gyllenhaal, Brand...Scarlett has at least one tattoo. I can’t imagine that having my initials on you somewhere would be a hindrance. Why weren’t you planning to get one too?” My hands were on my hips now, and I was gearing up for the fight. I had taken a step backwards, putting space between us. I knew he wouldn’t call my bluff, because I knew this wasn’t about the opinion of casting directors or about fairness.

“Darling, you know I’m hopelessly devoted to you. Won’t you do this for me? It would make me so happy.” Tom reached out for me, but I raised my hands to warn him off.

“No, Tom. I won’t do this. I don’t want a tattoo. I don’t want any tattoo. I wear an engagement ring, which incidentally, you don’t. I’ll wear your wedding ring. But I won’t be branded like cattle!” 

The instant I’d said it I wanted to take that last sentence back. Tom reeled as though I’d slapped him, and then, glancing quickly around the shop to see that the tattoo artist had retreated somewhere out of sight, lunged forward and grabbed my wrist, pulling me against his body and wrapping his other arm around my waist to hold me fast.

“You are mine,” he seethed, his face in mine. “Why are you defying me?”

“I won’t get a tattoo!” I enunciated each word clearly, as though the only problem here was that he hadn’t heard me, and wrenched away from him. Storming towards the door, I turned back to point at him. “This is the limit, do you hear?” He stared at me, open-mouthed. “I said, ‘do you hear?’”

“Caro—”

“Are you coming home? We’re through here.” Without waiting for an answer, I turned and walked out of the shop. Striding into the street, I hailed a taxi. Just as I was getting in, Tom caught the door and slid in beside me.

We spent the ride home looking out opposite windows, a wall of silence between us.

\-----------------

Two days had gone by, in which we lived like roommates, not lovers, and certainly not like a betrothed couple. We spoke politely when necessary, but had nothing that could be called a conversation. Tom fell asleep both nights whilst reading on the sofa, as though by accident, and came to bed only after I had gone to sleep. He was up before me in the morning to go running, but there was no note left for me on his pillow. He still made my coffee before going out, and I still made his dinner. We were at an impasse: I was waiting for him to apologise, and he was waiting for me to change my mind and give in.

After dinner on the third day of this, Tom settled into the sofa again with a pile of scripts, evidently determined to repeat the events of the previous evenings. I decided that I couldn’t take another whole evening of being ignored, and I went to him, kneeling on the floor beside him.

“Tom? Will you please talk to me?” I placed a hand tentatively on his arm.

“That depends, darling. What do you want to talk about?” I wanted to scream. Why did he have to be so cruel?

“Well, we could talk about our appointment with the wedding planner tomorrow.”

He frowned. “Must we, darling?”

“Well,” I said. “What do you want to talk about?” I felt like I was walking on eggshells. Why did he insist on playing this game?

Tom brought his hand up to cup the back of my head, his long fingers buried in my hair. He pulled my face down to his and kissed me, sweetly and slowly, his tongue sliding sensuously over mine, arousing me immediately. I hungered for his touch, his skin on mine. Just when he felt me begin to melt into him, he broke the kiss and favoured me with his sunniest smile. “I want to talk about when you’ll stop being silly and agree to get that tattoo.” He leaned in to kiss me again, and I shied away, as to accept this kiss felt like assent.

“I’m not being silly. I don’t want a tattoo. And I don’t want your initials permanently marked on me, like I’m one of your shirts at Eton. Why are you insisting on this? Can’t we just drop it?” I despised the pleading tone in my voice, but it was too late to take it back. I searched his face for any sign of warm feelings towards me, but found him impassive.

After staring at me for a moment, Tom lowered his hand and his eyes once again to the papers in front of him, dismissing me without a word.

I retreated to my studio and put on some music to mask the sound of my sobbing, and eventually bury myself in lace charting. When I emerged hours later, Tom had gone to bed.

The next day began as had the previous three: I awoke in an empty bed. Coffee was waiting in the kitchen, and Tom was out, mostly likely running. Our appointment with the wedding planner was at ten. I was in the studio when Tom returned, showered, and dressed. We took a taxi to the planner’s office, mostly in silence.

I had met with Jasmine, the wedding planner, once before, with Julie. Today Tom was to be there to help choose the menu. Rather than a severe office setting, the space was well appointed with a sofa and two chairs surrounding a coffee table which had refreshments laid out.

When we entered the office, Tom was pleasant enough, but took one of the single chairs rather than sitting with me on the sofa. I saw Jasmine notice this, but she didn’t say anything about it.

As she showed us various sample menus and serving options, I noticed that Tom was much more animated and engaged when speaking with Jasmine than when interacting with me. He turned his full charm upon her until she was practically preening for him. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking it bothered me, though I rolled my eyes once when I realised what he was doing.

As we left the office, he turned to me, about to speak. I cut him off, unable to contain my annoyance any longer. “If you’d rather marry _her,_ why don’t you just say so?”

Tom smirked good-naturedly. “If you wait much longer, darling, your tattoo won’t be healed before the wedding.”

I gaped at him, and then turned to hail a cab.

We returned to our silences, London streaming by through the windows.

\----------------------------

The next morning, after I had breakfast, I called Julie. I told her about the whole tattoo fiasco and how Tom and I were essentially not speaking to each other.

“I can’t believe he’s serious about this. Are you sure it isn’t some kind of joke? Like he just wants to see whether he can get you to agree? No, wait, that’s sick too. Can’t you just talk to him about it? I’m sure you can work it out. How have you handled arguments in the past?” she asked me.

“We haven’t actually disagreed about much,” I said, answering the last question and ignoring the first. I knew Tom’s insistence that I get his initials permanently inked on my skin was no joke. “Certainly never like this. At first I kept thinking he’d come around and apologise for assuming I would go along with getting that tattoo, but now I’m afraid he’s adamant. I don’t want to argue with him, Julie. I want this to go away. I keep hoping that he’ll come home at the end of the day and act like it never happened. I don’t even need an apology any more. I just want this stalemate to be over.”

“I still think you should just talk to him and explain why you don’t want a tattoo. Does he know about your grandmother?”

“No. I’ve never told him that.” My grandmother was a survivor of Auschwitz. She had a tattoo on her arm, placed there by the Nazis. I had never wanted a tattoo for myself, of anything, and certainly not one chosen for me by someone else.

“Why not? Surely he’d understand and back off.”

“I shouldn’t have to. He should accept my decision because it’s my decision. I think that if he thought it was a tattoo specifically that I was rejecting, he’d find something else. Scarification, a brand, I don’t know.”

There was a pause, and when Julie spoke, her voice was careful, her words tentative. “Did you ever read that letter someone left at the office?”

“No,” I answered. “I’d forgotten about it. Why?”

“Maybe now would be a good time to read it.”

“I have no idea what’s in there. If it’s from that woman who called before, I have no idea whether she’s even sane.”

“Just read it, will you? Do it to satisfy _my_ curiosity, if not yours.”

“Okay, okay. Hang on.” I wandered into my studio with the phone at my ear, and pulled the book containing the letter off the shelf.

I opened the envelope and unfolded a single sheet of paper. The writing on it was simple but neat.

“Caro? Caro? Are you still there?” Julie’s voice cut through the buzzing in my head. I swayed and then sat heavily in a chair.

“I’m here,” I said weakly.

“What does it say?” She was practically shouting.

I forced myself to read the unsigned letter, my voice faltering several times.

**Dear Dr Foreman,**

**This letter is an apology, though I know it’s too little, too late. I can’t afford to lose my job, so I won’t be signing this.**

**If I had known that helping Mr Hiddleston would get you fired, I would never have done it. As it was, the amount of money he offered me to leave the lift able to access the fourteenth floor should have made me think twice, but Christmas was coming and I suppose it clouded my judgment.**

**Mr Hiddleston also asked me to point out any security cameras on the floor, especially watching the boardroom. I assumed he meant to cover or redirect them. From the rumours I have heard, I guess he missed one.**

**I apologise for any part I played in the loss of your job at the hospital. I pray daily that you can forgive me.**

 

“Caro! Caro, he set you up! Caro?” My phone squawked at me from the floor, where I must have dropped it. My vision swam as the universe rearranged itself inside my head. _Tom had known the camera was outside the door, and he’d insisted on leaving the door open._ I wondered whether the recording had really been destroyed or whether Tom had a copy.

I picked up the phone. “Julie, I need to get out of here, and I’m going to need your help. I know I haven’t been the best friend over the past year, but I really need you now.”

“Anything you need, anything I can do, you can count on me,” she said immediately. “Do you need to come stay here?”

“Your flat is the first place he’ll look,” I said. “You’re really my only close friend in London. I’ll get a hotel.”

“When’s he coming home today?” Julie was a planner, and she’d switched into professional mode.

“Around seven, unless something’s come up and he just hasn’t told me, since we’re not really speaking. I would hope he’d tell me if he were missing dinner since I’ve been cooking. It would be really rude to just not come home.”

“I’m more worried about early, sweetie. You don’t want him to come home and find you packing a bag.”

“Oh, right. I can’t think. Okay, I’m going to hang up and get cracking.”

“Text me later, let me know you’re safely away, right?”

“Will do.”

I sat in my studio in shock for a few minutes. Thinking back over the past half year, many of Tom’s words took on more sinister meanings. I couldn’t believe that the man who claimed to love me more than anything in the world would have engineered the loss of my job so that he could have a tighter hold on me. But the evidence was in my hand. I remembered Tom’s absence from the meeting and his utter confidence that we could get to the boardroom, and it would be empty. My mind flashed back to that fleeting smirk I thought I saw in Cleveland, after Tom’s apparent epiphany that he’d been way too rough with me. Was our relationship really so unbalanced? Did he really love me at all, or just want to possess me? Had I been blind, and it was all a lie? Given what he’d done, the answers didn’t matter anymore. I had to get away, make a clean break, and be free of him. There was no possible acceptable explanation or apology for this.

Thankful now for all the international travel, I hauled out two large suitcases and packed as much of my clothing and knitting supplies as I could. I stepped into Tom’s office, a space I seldom entered, and started hunting for the USB drive that I knew held the photography session from June 2011. He might have copies on his hard drive, but at least if I had a copy, I had as much blackmail material as he did. I refrained from looking at what was on the other drives I found; he was entitled to his privacy, and just because he’d wronged me didn’t give me the right to ransack his personal belongings. Besides, I didn’t want to make him any angrier than he was going to be.

I made a copy of the anonymous letter. Taking a blank sheet of paper, I thought long and hard about what to say. I wanted my message to be as clear as how wrong he was.

 

**Tom –**

**I have loved you the best I know how. I know I’m not perfect, and I haven’t always been what you wanted me to be, but I tried. I have forgiven you for overstepping my limits many times, since you appeared to be truly sorry.**

**I have had this letter in my possession for months, but I only read it today.**

**You set me up to lose my job. You embarrassed and humiliated me to your own twisted ends. You really are seeking to own me and control me, and not by my consent but by trickery.**

**Expecting me to accept the tattoo was my limit. This, however, is the end. There cannot be any circumstance under which your behaviour was forgivable or excusable.**

**Please don’t try to find me or contact me. I think a clean break is best. Tell the tabloids what you will.**

**I honestly wish you well. I hope you can find a woman someday who wants to be everything you need, but it can’t be me.**

**Love always,**

**Caro**

 

I left the two letters on the hall table, the engagement ring and my house keys on top. I wasn’t planning to come back for anything else; if it hadn’t fit in the suitcases, it, like Tom, was mine no longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Katy Perry “Wide Awake” http://www.metrolyrics.com/wide-awake-lyrics-katy-perry.html


	26. Swimming for the Surface

“I can’t believe you kept all this from me. Has he been drugging you or something? This isn’t like you!” Julie was pacing about the sitting area of my hotel suite, gesticulating wildly at me. I’d told her everything that had happened in the past year or so, since I’d moved in with Tom, much earlier than she had suspected. As I thought back over it all for the first time as one coherent story, I realised how much I’d changed. Last April, I had been an independent professional, content with my friends and hobbies, not seeking anyone’s approval. Lately, I had been Tom’s companion, first and foremost, having little contact with the outside world that wasn’t with or through him. Even before he had severed me from my professional life, my associations had narrowed. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t seen it. Had I really been so eager to please him that I had cut everyone else out of my life? I had never been very gregarious, preferring to have a small group of close friends, but even so, I had let him isolate me further.

“Julie?”

She stopped her pacing at my tone. “What, honey?”

“Thank you. Thank you for being my friend, even when I was a terrible friend back.” I hadn’t cried when I realised what a monster my fiancé was, but I began to cry now. The best friend that I could have lost put her arms around me and let me weep. “What have I done, Julie?”

“You fell in love, sweetie. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last to be blinded to their lover’s faults.” She was trying to soothe me, but I couldn’t be that easy on myself.

“I still don’t understand. I thought he had learned something, back in Cleveland. He changed, Julie. He really did. Why did he get me fired? What did he want from me? What would have happened if I’d married him?” I had nothing but questions, a whirlwind of confusion in my mind.

“I don’t think he really changed, honey.” Julie’s voice was soft and careful. “I think he’s a very good actor. He realised that pushing you physically wasn’t going to work anymore, so he switched to controlling you psychologically. He knew you’d never quit working voluntarily, so he made it happen.” She took a deep breath. “I wonder how far he would have gone, too. Dictating whom you could see, where you were allowed to go? Keeping you at his side all the time? You’d almost be like Rapunzel, locked away in your tower, only held there by Prince Charming instead of a witch.”

“He _is_ Prince Charming.” Julie gave me a look that said _oh please._ “Well, when he wants to be. And in public, he wants to be. I mean, no one would believe my story. I don’t want to tell it,” I assured her. “But this is going to shake out in the tabloids as “Caro is insane for leaving this wonderful man.” No one would dream that he’s really more like Loki than like Captain Nicholls; that the affable gentleman who’s so good to his fans wants to mark his fiancé with an owner’s tag like a dog.”

“At least he didn’t suggest chipping you.”

Our laughter broke the tension at first, but then mine took on a hysterical edge as I realised _Tom would actually do that,_ if he thought he could get away with it.

“Stop, stop now, hush.” Julie brought me back to earth again. “Think, Caro. What now? Do you still have your own bank accounts? You’re jobless, but do you have money?”

“I still have my money. I don’t think Tom gives money much thought; we both have plenty. If we’d got married, we likely would have gone joint on the accounts, but it hadn’t come up in conversation yet.” I dried my eyes again and sat up straighter. I had something going for me. Whatever I was going to do, I needed a bankroll, and I had it.

“Are you going to stay in London?”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t thought that far. “I suppose it depends on Tom’s reaction to my leaving him. If he just wants the least fuss, to keep it out of the papers, perhaps he’ll simply leave me be. It’s not likely we’ll run into each other by accident. I’d need to find another job in London to stay, though.”

Julie nodded. “Okay, so open at the moment. What if Tom is willing to make a fuss? I see two possible ways he could come after you: apologetic or angry. If he really loves you and wants you back, he’ll try to beg your forgiveness, even though you’ve told him that’s impossible. If it’s just that his ego is bruised because you called him on his game, he’ll be angry and just try to get back at you. If he does the latter, I’m afraid you’ll have to move away. If he tries to win you back, it’s up to you, really, how much you can stand to deal with him.”

“I’m going to need to change my number, aren’t I?” This was turning into a Herculean undertaking. I felt suddenly exhausted. “I need to sleep on this. I’ve had enough thinking for today.” I felt like I’d been underwater, yearning for air, and had suddenly remembered which way led to the surface. I wasn’t quite there yet, not able to take that gulp of fresh air; it was a long way up. But I’d get there. I was grateful I’d started swimming soon enough.

Julie offered to stay the night, but I sent her home, assuring her that I would be fine. I just wanted to go to sleep. Perhaps when I woke in the morning, this would all have been a dream. The letter would really have been from Allie, Tom’s disgruntled old girlfriend, and I would be in my bed at home, with Tom, where I belonged. I knew it wasn’t going to happen, but I couldn’t face reality any more today.

\----------------

I dreaded what I would see when I checked my phone the next morning. I had deliberately turned it off as soon as Julie had come to the hotel so that I wouldn’t see whether Tom was calling. I had to turn it back on sometime (though Julie could call me at the hotel through the front desk), and after my first cup of coffee was as good a time as any. I wasn’t expecting Julie until ten or so, and I didn’t feel I could put off checking my messages until then, though her presence would have been comforting.

I found no less than a dozen voice messages from Tom, plus one from Luke. _I wonder what story Tom told him._ I decided to listen to Luke’s message first. It was safer for me; I wasn’t looking forward to hearing Tom’s voice. If he sounded contrite, or worse, grief-stricken, I wasn’t sure how well I could handle it. Could I ignore a plea from Tom to let him explain? Even knowing that it was an act? Was it an act? I found myself second-guessing my assumptions. Was Tom manipulating me on purpose, or was he really driven by some twisted version of love? _Does it matter, Caro? Stop that right now._ I listened to Luke’s voice message, from about ten last night.

_“Caro, this is Luke. Tom’s worried about you. Would you please call him? I hope you’re okay.”_

It seemed that Tom had only told Luke that I wasn’t home when he’d expected me to be. He must have been assuming that he’d get me to come back. I now expected the sad voice I heard in the voice messages. What Tom hadn’t counted on was that, when played in succession, they betrayed a lack of repetitiveness that was a bit too odd to ring true. I doubted that anyone else but me could have caught the false note, the slight hint of scripting, but I was certain. Rather than being distraught, Tom was playing distraught. I was equally sure that Luke bought the act.

_“Caro, darling, I can explain. Please, please call me. I’ll come to you, wherever you are. We love each other. Isn’t that all that matters? Please give me a chance, darling.”_

_“Please call me back, darling. Just give me a chance to explain. I know what I did was wrong. Let me make it up to you, please. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come. I love you.”_

The other calls ran through the same themes, but never varied in tone and never quite repeated the same words. I was sure that if he were truly as upset as he should be for his fiancé having left him abruptly, accusing him of treachery, he would be less coherent, more repetitive, and sound more desperate as the night went on.

I called Julie and reported my suspicions. “So he sounds apologetic, but you think he’s faking it?”

“Yeah, that’s about it in a nutshell,” I answered, running my hand over my face. “So, do I call him, or ignore him and see what he does next? Has he called you?” I wasn’t certain whether Tom had Julie’s number. _Of course he does. He probably has the entire contents of my contact list._

“One message, at nine last night. He sounds completely normal, just asks if I’ve seen you since yesterday afternoon.”

“If you don’t answer him, it pretty much tells him that you know everything.” I sighed. “I’m so sorry to drag you into this unpleasantness.”

“That’s what friends are for, sweetie. Do you want me to call him? I could say that I haven’t seen you, do a bit of acting myself.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t know. I can’t think.” A headache was threatening to form behind my eyes. “I guess so. If he thinks you know where I am, he’ll keep at you until you tell him. I don’t know if I can resist him in person.”

“Just remember what he did to you, Caro. It was vile and unforgivable. He tried to wreck your career! It’s fucking frightening.”

“I know, I know.” I sighed and dragged my hand through my hair. “So why do I miss him already?”

“You can’t just turn off love, honey. Though if I were in your shoes, I’d be an awful lot madder than you seem.”

“I don’t feel angry. I just feel sad. I’ve lost everything again, Julie. Why can’t I keep anything good in my life?” The tears came again, rolling freely down my face. I wasn’t sobbing, but my eyes overflowed.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry. I can’t get there until almost ten. Will you be okay?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” I managed before hanging up. 

What was I going to do? I couldn’t function. I vacillated between longing to feel Tom’s arms around me, and a shuddering revulsion at what he’d done and how he’d lied about it. “I never meant for this to happen,” he’d assured me. Every single day since we’d had sex in the boardroom had been a complete and utter lie. I didn’t even know whether his plan had started before that. Had he really gotten the idea during the meeting? The housekeeper’s letter didn’t mention any prior contact with Tom, so maybe he had hatched the plan on the spot. Regardless, he had deliberately placed me in a compromising position with the intent of getting me fired. That the man who said he wanted to marry me would manipulate me that way made me want to scream in horror. I desperately wanted to scrub all the good memories of being with Tom out of my head: they were false. He didn’t love me. He might think he did, but love makes you want the best for someone. It was obvious now that Tom’s first priority was not my best interests. I had been living with a madman. To add insult to injury, no one but Julie would ever believe me.

I had over an hour to kill before Julie arrived, so I busied myself by using every posh offering the hotel provided in the bathroom: bubble bath, shampoo, conditioner, body lotion. I smelled like jasmine and vanilla. After I’d dressed, I thought about ordering some food from room service, but decided that I’d wait and take Julie out to lunch. I wasn’t that hungry, my stomach churning every time I thought about Tom.

The knock on my door startled me out of my ruminations. I realised that all I had done for the last twenty minutes was pace. Hurrying to the door, I flung it open to let Julie in.

Standing in the hallway were Julie and Tom. Tom gripped her upper arm firmly with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. Her eyes were wild.

“You didn’t answer my calls, so I had to find out where you were another way,” he said calmly. “I suggest you let us in before there’s a scene.”

I knew that somehow, Tom could make it look as though he were the injured party, if it came to convincing witnesses. I stepped back from the doorway and let Tom march Julie into my hotel suite. Before letting Julie go, he demanded my mobile. I stood there mutely, unable to process his words, until he asked me again, this time politely. In a fog, I retrieved my phone from the counter next to the kettle and handed it to him. As soon as he let go of her, he hurried to the hotel phones and unplugged the receiver cords, tucking them into a drawer. I assumed by this behaviour that he didn’t have a weapon, or he simply would have kept us corralled in the sitting area instead of disabling all the telephones. I found that I wasn’t certain what he was capable of, and another wave of revulsion crashed over me. _How could I have been in love with this man yesterday?_

“Julie,” he spoke without looking at her, his eyes on me. “You’ve been very helpful, leading me here. Sit down and stay quiet. This doesn’t really concern you, but I can’t let you leave before I do. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered, and collapsed into a chair.

“Please sit down, darling. You look like you’re about to pass out.” His concern was disconcerting. I was expecting a volcanic eruption or a backhand across the face. I sat, grateful at not having to work so hard to appear steady, since it obviously wasn’t working anyway.

Tom reached into a pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out the letters I had left him: the housekeeper’s and mine. He separated the pages and offered me the first. “Do you actually believe this, darling? Do you really think I would do that to you? I’m the one who should be angry with you, for even being able to entertain such thoughts about me. Why would you believe the word of an anonymous stranger over that of your fiancé?” His eyes were sorrowful, brimming with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment: the _get on your hip waders because here comes the flood_ look that had tugged at the heartstrings of audiences over the past several years.

“I have no other explanation for that letter, Tom.” I closed my eyes to block out his anguished face, “I can’t see any other way that someone could know. You were gone from that meeting for twenty minutes, supposedly to go to the loo. The lift was left accessible to the fourteenth floor. You chose our position in the room, and you insisted that the door be left open. You’d been pressuring me to take a leave of absence or quit my job, and I wasn’t cooperating.” I opened my eyes and met him, steeling myself, forcing myself to ignore the emotion he wore like a costume. “You decided to take my career away from me, to turn me into your housewife. How could you do that to me? You’ve lied to me for months!”

“You can’t truly believe that, darling. Someone at that meeting must have written this letter. A member of the executive board, someone who is offended that you’ve been happy and thriving since they tried to punish you by firing you. I’m sure they expected you to crawl to them, begging for your job back. When that didn’t happen, some vindictive son-of-a-bitch decided to try to destroy your relationship with me. Please, darling, you have to know that I would never do anything to hurt you.” He dropped to his knees beside me. “Caro, take your ring back, come home. I love you, and I need you.”

I wanted to believe him, more than anything I could ever remember. I hesitated, my head spinning.

“He threatened to kill you, once.” Julie’s voice was a frightened whisper, but we both heard.

Tom’s head whipped around to glare at her, a snarl on his lips. “I told you to keep quiet!” She stifled a squeak and tried to shrink back into the chair as he turned back to me. “What, have you told her every private, intimate detail of our sex life? I said that months ago, during sex; I was playacting. We stopped playing that game, because you didn’t like it anymore.”

“It would have been nice it you had ever, just once, assured me that you hadn’t meant it. Because at the time, I was certain that you did, and that you weren’t pretending.” I looked his squarely in the eye. “I still am.”

“Caro, you can’t be serious.” His face showed hurt and regret; his hands were still clenched in fists.

“Give it up, Tom. Did you ever really love me? For a long time now, hell, maybe since the beginning, you’ve been playing a game called ‘Control.’ I declare the game over, and you lose. Please go. I won’t say anything to anyone, and neither will Julie. I won’t hurt your career. Just let me go in peace.” My eyes were, much to my surprise, dry.

Tom’s eyes narrowed, and his lips became a thin line. “No. No, it doesn’t work like that. You are mine, and we belong together.” Taking me completely by surprise, he pulled me to him and kissed me, hard. It was an act of possession, an insistence that I yield to his lips, his aggressive tongue. I struggled against the hand on the back of my head, pushing futilely against his chest with both hands. I felt ill, violated, as he completely disregarded both my words and my actions.

When he finally pulled back, I spoke as quickly as possible, hoping to get through to him before he did something more. “No, I am not. Take your hands off of me and go away!”

Frowning, Tom grabbed my left hand and forced my fingers straight. He shoved the engagement ring onto my fourth finger, then grabbed my hand and jerked me to my feet. “You are checking out now, and you are coming home with me, where you belong. Julie,” again he spoke to her without looking at her. “Please pack up Caro’s belongings and send them along. Her hands are occupied at the moment.” He turned back to me. “I trust you don’t want to make a scene in public? Behave now.”

Turning toward the door, dragging me along with him, he shot one parting glance at Julie. “Don’t try anything silly, like telling the police she’s been kidnapped. They’ll find her at home, at the address on her driver’s licence.” Suddenly remembering that he had Julie’s mobile in his pocket, he tossed it on the coffee table, an afterthought. Then, still clutching my left hand in a death grip with his right, he escorted me out.


	27. Rapunzel

For over a week, I was a prisoner in what had been my home; it felt like home no longer. Tom had hidden my mobile phone and had put a password on any device with internet access. My laptop had been password-protected, but Tom had known that the password was “Amelia” for months, since his had malfunctioned and we had shared mine on our trip to Germany. I had left it behind when I ran, unable to carry everything I wanted to take with me, and I hadn’t thought to change the password. I had put all my files on a USB drive and reasoned that I could always replace a computer. Now I had no way to contact the outside world, short of shouting out a window. He was careful, hiding his own mobile somewhere or keeping it on his person, so that I couldn’t use it to call for help.

Tom had had the locks changed so that they were key-only deadbolts so that I couldn’t simply leave. The ground-floor windows had always had security bars; I was trapped. In case of fire, I supposed I would jump out of a first floor window, but the prospect of doing so without the threat of imminent death didn’t thrill me.

Tom acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He was between projects, and so had nowhere he needed to be. If he’d had any meetings or appointments this week, he’d cancelled or rescheduled them. He didn’t resume his usual schedule of rising early to run, though, instead leaving the house at different times of the day to exercise or do the shopping. I assumed he was trying to make his absences unpredictable to Julie, should she try to contact me or send the police. Otherwise, he was his usual self: pleasant and chatty, tirelessly attempting to draw me into conversation, though I seldom really engaged. When I didn’t answer, he simply looked at me sadly, as though I was an enormous disappointment to him. Not once did he bring up the subject of his behaviour, now or in the past. He never asked me to explain why I had left.

The single enormous difference in our interaction was the complete lack of physical contact. Since overpowering me at the hotel, Tom hadn’t touched me, other than the accidental brush of hands as we both reached for the sugar bowl. He gave me privacy to dress and shower. I had removed his ring, and it sat on my bedside table. Every time I moved it (to a dresser drawer, to his bedside table, to the middle of the coffee table), it reappeared on my bedside table to be the first thing I saw in the morning and the last thing I saw at night. The wedding was to take place in six weeks, and I wondered how Tom thought he was going to force me to go through with it. Did he really think he could win me over? Did he think I would just forgive him for everything he’d done if he simply acted nice enough? What filled me with dread was the thought that he might have something else up his sleeve, some way to blackmail me into going through with the wedding. The biggest puzzle was: why did he want to marry me anymore? Was it all still about winning, about control?

After a few days, I realised that I would have to play along just enough to earn communication privileges. I wasn’t sure how far I’d need to go, but I resolved to do whatever it took to be allowed to have my mobile or my computer back, or to leave the house alone. I had to convince Tom that I would let bygones be bygones; that my love for him was stronger than my anger and my fear. The more ineffectual and cowed I seemed, the better the chance he would allow me some measure of freedom.

I started by responding to his conversational forays. It really wasn’t difficult to chat with him, as he was interested in everything from politics to what films were coming out next month. He even asked about my knitting commissions, though that conversation fell flat, since without internet access, I had no way to contact my customers. I told him I expected to lose business due to not being able to respond to customer emails for over a week, without any notice on the website that I would be unavailable. I hoped, however, that the conversation would put the idea in Tom’s head that cutting me off from the outside world could itself arouse suspicion. Certainly my mother would be concerned if she didn’t hear from me for two weeks or more.

Since I didn’t want to seem to change my mind so quickly that he’d suspect it was a ruse, I was careful to remain somewhat aloof. Over the course of a few days, I warmed up a little more, bringing my knitting out of the studio and sitting companionably in the living room with him as he read books and scripts, answering when he spoke to me, but not initiating conversation. I never requested anything directly, but revisited the issue of my online business languishing several times. Tom always answered obliquely, saying he was sure my customers would wait since my services were unique, and he was sure I’d be back in touch soon.

One evening near the end of the week, Tom suggested that we watch a movie together after dinner, being as solicitous as to give me a choice of several that neither of us had yet seen. They were all romantic comedies, and I picked _Ruby Sparks._ We settled on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn, and Tom put his arm companionably around me. I forced myself to relax and simply watch the movie. As the film progressed, I felt more and more uncomfortable, as it became apparent that Calvin controlled, and in fact had created, Ruby. Tom didn’t seem to notice any parallel, or at least gave no hint that the movie made him uncomfortable.

When the credits rolled, Tom squeezed me gently, and I turned my head to look at him. His kiss was soft, tentative. He was asking for permission, and I gave it. He deepened the kiss, showing me the heat he had kept hidden since the moment I had refused his wishes in the tattoo parlour, over a week ago. He moaned softly as his hands roamed over me.

“I’ve missed you so much, Caro. Come to bed. Let me welcome you home.”

My answer was a gasp as his tongue found the point on my throat that he knew always made me come undone. My body was betraying me, but it was better just to feel, not to think tonight. I had to convince Tom that I had forgiven him, and that I was willing to be his again. Putting what he’d done out of my mind and just appreciating his sexy body and skilful lovemaking would serve that end. A small voice in the back of my mind screamed at me not to go through with it, but I squashed it down. I’d rather it was this way than what his kiss in the hotel room had suggested. I wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t eventually force himself on me if I didn’t come willingly, reasoning that I liked being treated roughly, no matter how much I protested. I’d had a lot of time to think this past week, and I had come to the realisation that Tom didn’t consider himself a villain at all: in his mind all his actions were rational, even benevolent, designed to secure our mutual happiness. Never mind that his assessment of what would make me happy was completely off the mark.

Rising from the sofa, Tom lifted me in a bridal carry, reminiscent of our first night together. He gazed at me hungrily as he carried me to the bedroom and set me on my feet again. Leaning down, he rubbed his face against mine, like a cat, his close-cropped beard surprisingly soft against my cheek. “Caro,” he breathed in my ear. “This week has been such torture, not touching you, waiting. I’m so happy you’ve decided to come back to me.” I repressed a shudder at how delusional he was. I needed him to believe. I wished he’d stop talking so I could shut my eyes and pretend it was two weeks ago and I didn’t know he was insane.

Tom pulled back to survey my face. “I know you think what I did was perhaps a bit extreme, but it was for the best, darling. I knew you’d come to see that eventually. Isn’t life better without all the stress of your job?” 

_To be replaced by the stress of loss of purpose, then replaced again by the stress betrayal, and of being hunted down and held prisoner by my fiancé. Yeah, Tom, life’s been great these days._ Squashing my internal monologue, I simply nodded, holding his pale gaze. I leaned slightly toward him, willing him to kiss me, but knowing that he didn’t want me to actually take the initiative. Tom would want to be in control, as always. But I needed to get him to stop saying these crazy things, or I would scream, and the efforts of the last several days would be for naught.

Whether he read my body language consciously or not, he kissed me then, at first gently but swiftly growing more heated and more aggressive so that when he pulled back from me, we were both breathing heavily, our hearts pounding.

“Undress for me, Caro. Show yourself to me.”

I stepped away from the bed and pulled my blouse off over my head. Tom made an appreciative ‘ooh’ at the sight of my breasts, showcased in crimson lace. I’d worn nice lingerie, expecting this scene within a day or two. I wanted him to believe I was doing everything possible to try to please him, short of begging his forgiveness or agreeing to the tattoo. Those two things I couldn’t make myself do, no matter the cost.

Evidently too excited to continue to watch from afar, Tom pulled me back to him, kissing me as he unfastened of my bra and slid it from my body to the floor. Fumbling with the zipper of my skirt for a moment, he gave up and ordered me to take it off. When I was down to my red lace panties, Tom lifted me in his arms and placed me on the bed. Without taking his eyes off my body, he made short work of his t-shirt, jeans, and boxers, before climbing onto the bed beside me.

“I think you’re even sexier in these knickers than you are naked, darling. I almost hate to take them off.” He slid them down my legs, contemplated them a moment, and then tossed them over his shoulder. “Almost.”

Lying on his left side, he pulled me to him, my back against his front, his erection hard against my backside. His right hand moved smoothly over my body as he nestled his face into my neck. “I want to make you feel so good, darling. I want to show you I’ve forgiven you for leaving, forgiven you for all those terrible things you said to me.” I couldn’t hide my shudder that time, but luckily Tom mistook the motion for pleasure at what his hand was doing. _Please, please stop talking. Just let me pretend you’re who everyone else thinks you are._

He kept a leisurely pace, stroking my body gently, concentrating on a nipple for a moment, long enough to make me squirm before moving to stroke my inner thigh. His breath was hot on my neck as he told me I was beautiful, that he had missed me, how hard it had been not to touch me or kiss me for so long. My breathing quickened as I became more aroused by his stroking hand and his passionate words, and he began to rock his hips against me, his ardour made plain by his iron-hard cock pressed between us. He thrust a knee between mine, spreading my legs to give his talented fingers better access. He teased me with gentle caresses, tracing my outer lips, avoiding the spot where I ached to be touched. When his fingers finally brushed my clit, I jerked from the intensity of the sensation. I had been so distressed since the day in the tattoo parlour that I hadn’t even touched myself; I was exquisitely sensitive from over a week without any sexual contact.

Tom’s sharp intake of breath echoed my own. “Oh, yes,” he moaned in my ear. His fingers danced over me, dipping inside to return wet and slippery to my clit. I writhed against him as he drove me relentlessly towards climax. “Come for me, darling. Call out my name. Tell me you’re mine, darling.” His words were as insistent as his fingers, and I came, hard, gasping his name, hating myself. _Why do I still want you, you bastard?_ I did want him; I wanted him inside me, his weight on me. I wished I could erase my knowledge of what he’d done to me and just love him, marry him, and be what he wanted me to be. _It’s hormones, Caro, endorphins. Hold on; you’ll get your brain back when it’s over._

Tom moved over a little so that I rolled onto my back, still cradled in his arms. “I don’t think I’m going to last very long, Caro. I’ve been waiting for you.” He looked a bit embarrassed. “Will you forgive me if this time I’m a little, well, over-excited?”

“Of course,” I said, and he smiled. _The sooner this is over, the better._

“Nothing fancy tonight, I should think,” he said, moving to kneel between my thighs. “I just want to watch your face while I make love to you.” _He really does believe that he loves me,_ I marvelled. _How did he get so broken?_

Tom lowered his body to cover mine, skin meeting skin from chest to thighs, his weight on his forearms beside my head. He entwined the fingers of both hands into my hair, and, locking his eyes on mine, slowly entered me, stretching me and filling me until his cock was buried completely within me. “I missed this so much,” he whispered as he bent to kiss me, a deep, searching kiss that I longed to lose myself in. I struggled to remember that I was sleeping with the enemy.

When Tom started to move his hips, slowly pulling back most of the way before sheathing himself in my flesh again, it felt so good that I cried out his name, clutching at his shoulders, bringing my legs up around his waist. He grunted in pleasure, pulling my hair to tilt my head back and expose my throat to his hungry mouth. His kisses were interspersed with moans and words of praise and gratitude: “Oh, darling, you feel so good. I’m so glad you’re mine, my beautiful Caro. How I love to be inside you.” His hips moved faster, pounding relentlessly into me, and he tucked his face into my neck, sucking on the skin just under my jawline. I knew he’d left a mark, but I didn’t protest. “I’m so close,” he gasped, lifting his head to look in my face once again. “Watch me, my darling. Watch what you do to me.”

He cried out then, tensing, eyes squeezing shut, his cock pulsing inside me as he pressed into me, pinning me to the bed. He gulped in a great lungful of air, opening his eyes to stare incredulously at me. “Still coming,” he managed to choke out before all his muscles locked again, his whole body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. I wondered when the last time he’d gone this long without a climax was, and thought it was probably years, at least.

He finally collapsed on top of me, boneless, chest heaving. “That was incredible,” he said shakily as he made a half-hearted attempt to shift his weight off me. “Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever come like that in my life. You really are my one and only, you know that?” He managed to roll to the side, and I shivered at the loss of his warmth. He pulled the sheets over us and wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you, Caro. Thank you for coming back to me. I need you, darling.”

We lad lain like that for a little while, when suddenly, he sat up, reaching over to my side of the bed. Snuggling back down into the sheets next to me, he lifted my left hand, sliding the engagement ring onto my ring finger. “There. Back where it belongs, my love, just like you.” He kissed my hand, then my lips. “All is forgiven, everything is mended. Yes?”

I searched his face and found only love and concern. _He really is mad._ “Yes,” I said, hoping he couldn’t read the lie in my eyes. I wished I was telling the truth, but I could never forgive his lies and deceits, all aimed at narrowing my world to his dictates, placing my life under his control.

His face split in a huge grin, and when he spoke, he was laughing. “My darling. I love you so much. I can’t wait to make you my wife.”

I smiled tentatively; it was practically impossible not to smile when he looked so joyous.

My smile froze on my face as he spoke again, looking away from me as he reached over to turn out he light. “We’d best get back to the tattoo parlour within the next couple weeks. There needs to be enough time for you to heal completely before the wedding.”

Tom’s breathing slowed almost immediately, but I lay awake in a panic for a long time afterwards. I had defused one bomb only to start the timer on another. _How was I going to get out of this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random song association: Rapunzel by Dave Matthews Band (lyrics: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/d/dave+matthews+band/rapunzel_20036494.html)


	28. Escape Artist

The next morning, Tom woke me with breakfast in bed. He was adorable, looking both a little sorry about waking me and incredibly proud of the job he’d done. The tray held a huge fluffy cheese omelette, fruit salad, bacon, and toast. He hurried back out to the kitchen to return with two steaming mugs of coffee, and climbed back onto bed with me to share the feast. A pang of sadness hit me as he sat cross-legged next to me in his boxers, munching on toast. I wished so much that this was real, that I could keep this. In moments like these, he was the most wonderful lover I could imagine. _Why did he have to turn it so wrong?_ I wanted to freeze time, to stay here with my adoring, loving Tom. That it was all a mirage made me want to weep. I could barely touch the food due to the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“What’s the matter, darling? Don’t you like it?” He looked like a sad puppy.

“It’s lovely, Tom. Just, you know, it takes my stomach a while to wake up in the morning.” I took a swig of coffee, both for the caffeine and the time to think. “Thank you so much. You’re always so thoughtful. You make me feel loved.” I hoped I wasn’t laying it on too thick. It was hard to figure out how I would act if I could actually forgive him.

His grateful smile told me that he took my statements at face value. “You are loved, darling.” His face grew serious. “Everything I’ve done, everything I do, is for you. Our life will be perfect together, if you’ll just let me make it so. Will you be ruled by me, Caro? Will you stop fighting what I know is best for us?” His eyes implored me to agree. I sensed that this was the moment on which my freedom hinged; there was no going back.

I nodded gravely, meeting his eyes. “Yes, Tom,” I added meekly, again praying that I wasn’t overdoing it. He was the actor, not me, and I hoped his emotions would render him unable to see through my amateur performance.

Tom leaned over and took my left hand, kissing it just above the engagement ring, and then leaned further to kiss me gently on the lips. “I knew you would come around, darling. I am yours, and you are mine. We belong together.”

I forced myself to smile. “Yes, Tom. Of course we do.”

After we’d finished eating, Tom took the tray to the kitchen and came back with my laptop. “I changed your password back to ‘Amelia,” he said casually. “I’ll ask you not to change it to anything else. I want access to your computer at all times.”

“Yes, Tom.” I wondered whether he’d installed key logging software, or whether I could get away with emailing for help and then erasing my browsing history. He had to let me out of the house eventually. But would it be before he escorted me to the tattoo parlour? I didn’t want to bring it up, lest he think I was suggesting we get it done today, but I didn’t know how long I had. I wasn’t even sure what day of the week it was. Didn’t Tom have anywhere he had to be?

As if he had read my last thought, he spoke. “I told Luke to keep my schedule light until the wedding. I want to spend more time with you, and make sure everything is perfect.” His eyes shone as he smiled at me, only now I saw in them not the glow of love but the gleam of the obsessed. Not for the first time, I asked myself: _How have you been so blind?_

I thanked him for the return of my computer, and let him claim a kiss. He pulled on his clothes and headed out for a run. I took the fastest shower possible in order to have as much time alone in the house as I could get. I wanted to find my passport; if I couldn’t, I was trapped in the country until the American consulate could help me replace it. Since they were the only ones who could, it was a dangerous place to go, once I escaped. If he were determined, Tom could simply stake out the entrance during business hours, either preventing me from entering to replace my passport, or forcing me to accompany him back here. I had realised that, as much as I loved living in London, I wouldn’t be free until I left England.

 _Where would he hide my passport?_ I prayed that he hadn’t placed it in his own bank box. I hoped that he’d underestimated me and hidden it somewhere in the house. _Somewhere high, I’ll wager._ I retrieved the step stool from my closet and started in his. I was very careful to place everything back where I’d found it. There was a stash of girly magazines on the top shelf of his closet, hidden under a pile of jumpers that I’d never seen him wear, but they were all dated 2010 and earlier. It seemed that I really was his one and only, even in fantasy.

The high shelves in the guest bedroom were empty, and I knew it wouldn’t be hidden in my own studio. I ventured alone into Tom’s office for the second time ever. As before, none of his drawers were locked. I was afraid to rifle through them too much, as he could return home any moment. I looked quickly on the top shelf of the closet, but my passport wasn’t there.

I was beginning to feel desperate. I couldn’t have much more time to search. If Tom came home while I had the stepladder on the ground floor, he might get suspicious. It would be hard to come up with an excuse; he had just given me back my computer, so why would I be cleaning the top of the refrigerator? I decided to chance it anyway: the sound of the key in the lock should give me enough time for me to grab the ladder and run back upstairs.

The kitchen yielded nothing, and I was glad that the cabinets ran to the ceiling, since I would have had to stand on the counters to check above them had there been space on top. In the dining room, I finally found it: my passport was on top of the display cabinet that held Tom’s awards. I left it there; he might check on it, and if it were missing, he’d know I was up to something.

When Tom returned home, I was sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop, working my way through customer requests. It felt wrong to play him false; it wasn’t in my nature. Part of me wanted to confront him, to demand to know why he had hidden my passport, when he would give me my phone and why, if he loved me so much, he was treating me this way. The wiser part, however, knew that no amount of talking would get through to him, and I just needed to do whatever it took to get away.

While he was out, I had searched the computer as best I knew how for any hint of surveillance software. I knew Tom, while an avid adopter of gadgets, wasn’t actually all that tech-savvy. He could have had someone else install the software, of course, but I was certain he hadn’t taken the computer out of the house. I was pretty sure, after a search through the directories, that no key logging software had been installed. So as long as I managed to erase my browsing history, I thought I could get away with sending some emails. I took the leap of faith that, while he knew my laptop password, he didn’t know my email password.

My first message was to my mother, assuring her that I was okay, but saying that Tom and I were having issues, and that I thought it was likely that the wedding would be postponed or called off. I wanted my parents to stop planning their visit, planned for mid-November through the wedding, but I didn’t want to worry her to the point where she would fly out immediately, or call the consulate. I was afraid of what Tom might do if he found out that I had asked for help before I was safely out of his reach. I cautioned her not to call me, but to keep to email. 

The second email was to Julie: 

**Julie,**

**Tom finally let me have my computer. Please tell me he hasn’t threatened you, or worse, done anything to hurt you. I have a plan to get away – please don’t send the police around, or it will ruin everything. If Tom is arrested, it will put a spotlight on us, and I just want to slip quietly away. I don’t want to attract attention or be responsible for ruining his career. No one will believe me, and it will be a circus. Please, please tell me you haven’t sent the police. I’m fine, I promise. He hasn’t hurt me, but I can’t leave, and he still has my phone. I’ll let you know when I’ve got away, or if I need your help.**

**Love,  
Caro**

I didn’t want to find out what Tom would do if the authorities came knocking, based on the report of a woman held under duress. I hardly looked like a victim; other than the love bite Tom had place on my neck last night, there wasn’t a mark on me, I was clean, well-rested, and well fed, in what was legally my place of residence. That I couldn’t lay my hands on a key or a telephone would be hard to prove. I had no doubt that, if the police came inquiring, I would turn around and find both items sitting on the kitchen table. Once the police had left, I was sure that I would not be overly fond of what came next. If they actually believed me, the media firestorm would begin, no doubt aimed at me, not Tom. Who would believe that Tom Hiddleston was an abusive boyfriend?

The third email was to Liam.

**Dear Liam,**

**I need your help. I don’t want to give you any details, since the less you know, the better. Suffice it to say that I need to leave England quickly and quietly. I need you to put in a word for me with your friend Andreas in Düsseldorf. I understand that a job may not be available quickly, but maybe he’ll know someone who knows someone. My final destination isn’t important – I just need to leave London, and preferably England.**

**If you ever loved me (and I know that you did), please do this for me and don’t ask questions. I’m not sure my life depends on it, but my happiness does, and probably my sanity.**

**With everlasting gratitude,**

**Caro**

 

I had wiped my browsing history and returned to my backlog of business queries by the time Tom came back to the kitchen, showered and changed.

“I need to give Jackson a call, see when we can reschedule your tattoo,” he said absently as he pulled a glass out of the cabinet. “He said it’ll take a good four to five weeks to heal and look nice, so we have a little leeway. The sooner the better, I expect though.” He poured himself a glass of water, drained half of it in one go, and placed the glass on the table. Moving to stand behind me, he bent down and placed a kiss at the base of my neck, on the spot where he had chosen to label me. “I know I’ll feel better when it’s done,” he murmured against my skin. “When I can look at you and see your devotion to me written on your skin.” He drew my right earlobe in between his teeth and bit down lightly, sending a shiver down my spine. He knew exactly how to turn me on, and I felt myself heating up despite my panic at his words.

He straightened up then, laughing knowingly. “I’d take you back to bed, darling, but Luke and I have some meetings. Think you can wait to get your hands on me until three o’clock?”

I looked up at him, completely conflicted. I was simultaneously disappointed and relieved at the promise of sex later. I wanted him, but I didn’t want to want him. _How did I get so fucked in the head?_ I nodded, uncertain what Tom could read from my expression. He must have seen what he wanted to see, because he smirked and gave me a parting kiss on the cheek.

“Poor Caro,” he said jokingly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” His smile and wink left his meaning unmistakeable. Downing the rest of the water, he placed the glass in the sink and went out into the front hall. I heard him pull on his leather jacket, and the jingle of keys.

“Say hi to Luke for me!” I called out in what I hoped was a casual tone.

“Will do! See you around three.” He popped his head back into the kitchen doorway. “Be naked.” The mischief in his expression made me grin. As the door shut behind him and the lock turned, the sadness hit me again. It wasn’t real. I couldn’t enjoy it, as much as I wanted to. Tom could be thoughtful, generous, and playful. But he was also delusional, possessive, and possibly dangerous.

\----------

It turned out that Jackson was taking a few days off, and he couldn’t fit us in until Tuesday. I had less than a week to try to arrange my safety net, though if I could escape sooner, I would take my chance. My plan was a little dicey, and depended on my continuing to fool Tom and the willingness of a man I had never met to stick his neck out and help me.

I had received replies to all my emails. My mother agreed to sit tight, though she was dying to know what was going on, and expressed sorrow that my relationship with Tom wasn’t working out. My parents really liked him, of course, and they were sad to hear he likely wouldn’t be joining the family.

I was relieved to get a quick reply from Julie:

**Dear Caro,**

**Thank God you’re okay! You have to get out of there! I did call the police, but when I admitted that he hadn’t actually harmed you, that I knew of, they said I didn’t have much of a case. Just being really nasty to both of us isn’t enough, I guess. You’re telling me not to send them round, so I won’t, but I think you’re making a mistake! You’re risking your safety for your reputation. I think you should get away by any means necessary, even if it makes a big mess for him. He deserves it! I know it would be hard to have people accusing you of lying about him, but you’d be free of him, and safe. Think about it. For now I’ll do what you want. Take care, and I mean that.**

**Love,  
Julie**

 

Most importantly, Liam answered me, after two days of agonising waiting.

**Dear Caro,**

**I don’t know what sort of trouble you’re in, but you know you can always count on me. I assume this has something to do with your boyfriend the actor (I’ve Googled him occasionally, so I know you’ve been together for some time). I’m sorry that things are going so badly, but I won’t ask for any more than you want to tell.**

**Andreas Becker is the head of the neonatology division at Düsseldorf University Hospital. He’s agreed to help you find a position somewhere in or near Düsseldorf, but your visa and licenses are your problem, I’m afraid. If you need money to help you get settled, I can help. Just let me know.**

**Please let me know when you’re safe. I do still care about you, you know.**

**Liam**

Attached was Herr Doktor Becker’s contact information as well as Liam’s current phone numbers. I couldn’t program the information into my phone, so I just left it in the email. I could access it from anywhere, and there’d be no file for Tom to find.

\---------------

The next several days were some of the hardest I’d ever had to endure, in some ways worse even than losing my Amelia. The stress of pretending, and worrying about being found out, kept me awake at night. I hadn’t been out of the house or seen anyone except Tom in almost two weeks. My plans were made, and there was nothing to do but wait and hope. In the meantime, I had to keep up a cheerful front, keep busy, and respond convincingly to Tom’s frequent sexual advances. He seemed to need physical contact for reassurance and to reconnect with me. The sex always left me conflicted; I still found him exciting and sexy despite knowing how dysfunctional his emotions were. I was coming to pity him, although I knew that was dangerous. I needed to remember to fear him, no matter how kind and loving he acted, but I couldn’t let him see it, even when he was inside and around me, as close as two people could be to each other. To make matters worse, his lovemaking was, while still enthusiastic, gentler and somehow more appreciative than before. He’d almost lost me, and, rather than gloating that he’d won, he was grateful that I’d forgiven him and agreed to his terms. I knew that, in his broken way, he did love me, and he would feel terribly betrayed when I disappeared. How those feelings would translate into action was what I feared most. He’d already proven himself capable of physically overpowering and implicitly threatening both Julie and me, plus he’d kidnapped and imprisoned me, cutting me off from all avenues of communication for days. What would he do when he realised that my agreement had been a ruse, and that I’d been lying to him? And why couldn’t he take a step back and think about what I’d said in my letter and at the hotel, or how I felt? Why did he never try to find out why I was so opposed to accepting a tattoo? I was, in a way, grateful that he lacked the insight to have asked that question, since if he had, I might never have opened the letter from the hospital housekeeper before the wedding. I shuddered to think what my life would have been like in a year, or three, or five. Would I eventually have found myself shut away like this anyway? And what if one day I had happened upon the letter again by chance? What if I had been his wife for years, perhaps with a child, when I discovered the lengths he had gone to cut me off from my career?

Tuesday finally came, and I could hardly contain my nervousness. I had retrieved my passport from its hiding place in the dining room while Tom was in the shower and buried it in the bottom of my largest handbag, together with some other contraband: a change of clothes, my purse, my best jewellery, and a USB drive with all my personal and business files. Tom had confiscated the drive I had taken with our photo session on it, but I had already copied the photos into a deeply hidden folder on my laptop. Either he hadn’t found it, or he hadn’t actually looked through my files at all when he changed the password. I had copied them back to a new USB drive before wiping the laptop last night. On top of everything, I packed a knitting project. I always had knitting with me, so this wouldn’t excite suspicion. I would be leaving this time with even less that I had taken before, but practically anything could be replaced. Luckily, Tom thought about money so little, he must not have realised that letting me keep my bankcards and driving license was a mistake.

I couldn’t help feeling tense in the taxi. Tom interpreted my rigid posture as fear of pain while getting the tattoo, and put his arm around me.

“Are you worried about it hurting, darling? Jackson will use a topical anaesthetic if you want, I understand some people like to feel it, but you don’t have to. I don’t want to hurt you. I wish there were a painless way to do it.”

I was afraid to argue; what was the point? If he miraculously agreed that I didn’t need to get the tattoo, we’d turn around and go home. I’d need a whole new escape plan, and I’d have to endure more days of pretending to be his loving fiancée. I kept silent, just giving him the grateful smile I was sure he expected.

This time, the shop was open for regular business when we arrived. I hoped having more people around would somehow work to my advantage. We were ushered into a back room, where Jackson awaited us, a copy of the proposed tattoo in hand. He passed me a clipboard with a consent form on it. Tom watched me intently as I signed it.

Handing the clipboard back to Jackson, I turned to Tom. “Will you do me one huge favour, my love?” I stepped close to him, running a thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone. If all went according to plan, this was the last time I would ever gaze upon his face in person. I cursed the part of me that filled with sadness and pain, the part of me that didn’t want to leave him. _This man would put you in a cage, Caro. Remember that._

“Of course, darling.” I had him in a bit of a corner; his unfailingly polite public persona was on display for Jackson’s benefit. If he was suspicious, he couldn’t let it show. “What is it?” The intensity of his gaze told me he was on guard. I sighed inwardly. I suppose if I had completely convinced him, he would have returned my mobile and house key by now.

“I don’t want you to watch. I’m a bit of a baby about pain, and I’m sure I’m going to make silly faces and awful noises. I don’t want you to see me like that. Please, love?” I kissed him, gently, on the lips. It was my goodbye kiss, though of course he didn’t know it yet.

“I think you’re being silly. Don’t you want me to hold your hand?” He was looking for a way to stay without seeming to refuse my request.

“No, it’s too embarrassing. Please?” I entreated him again.

He had no choice but to agree, or look unreasonable. “I’ll go for a walk then. I’ll come back soon to check on you, okay, darling?” The set of his mouth said that I’d best not argue.

“That’s great,” I answered. “Thank you.”

Tom turned to Jackson. “Thanks, man. I owe you for fitting us in. I know you’re booked solid.” He clasped the man’s hand.

“Anything for Loki, man,” Jackson answered, and my heart sank. Would he help me, or turn a deaf ear? Would he believe me, or would Tom’s reputation as the nicest celebrity on the planet make him doubt my story?

Tom turned back to me, surprising me with a kiss that was sweet and slow. “Thank you so much for doing this, darling. I know you’re not really excited about it, but the fact that you’re willing to do it for me means the world. I love you so much, Caro.”

Each word was like a knife in my heart. His sincerity made me doubt everything, just for an instant. But no: he had gone way beyond the bounds of acceptable behaviour, and there was no going back. His motives might be pure, but his methods were reprehensible.

“I love you, too.” It wasn’t completely a lie. I still loved the man I had thought he was. Unfortunately, I didn’t think that he had ever truly existed, or, if he did, he was only one side of the whole man.

Tom searched my face. “Have Jackson call me if you need me before I get back. See you soon.” Favouring the tattoo artist with one more smile and a wave, he left through the door to the front of the shop.

I turned to Jackson as soon as I was sure Tom was out of earshot, but still kept my voice to a loud whisper. “I need your help.”

He looked surprised, but indicated that I should keep talking.

I explained that Tom was forcing me to get the tattoo, and gave him a quick synopsis of the past couple weeks, without too many details. I told him that I had found out that Tom had done something I found so unacceptable that I had left him, that Tom had come after me and brought me back home against my will, and that he had essentially held me prisoner. “This is my only chance to get away. I had to count on being able to convince him to leave me here with you, and then I have to convince you, a complete stranger, to help me. I can’t lie; he’ll be angry when he returns and finds me gone. I don’t know what he’ll say or do. I’m asking you to take on the burden of dealing with him afterward.” My plan was excruciatingly simple: Jackson would tell Tom that I had said I needed to use the loo before he got started, and I simply never returned. I needed to give Jackson plausible deniability, as we like to say in America.

I stopped talking and simply waited, begging Jackson with my eyes to agree to cover for me. 

Jackson stared at me for a moment, and then nodded. “I’m having trouble wrapping my head around the idea of Tom Hiddleston holding his girlfriend hostage, but I believe you.” He took a deep breath. “I remember how you reacted the last time you were here. I thought that surprising you with a tattoo, especially of his initials, was really strange. Usually when people get a tattoo of their loved one’s initials, it’s their own idea. I was surprised again when he called back to reschedule. And I could see that he didn’t want to leave you alone here. I wondered why he was arguing while trying to look like he wasn’t.”

Jackson pulled his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialled. Listening to his end of the conversation, I realised that he was checking with the artist in the front of the shop to see whether Tom had actually left the building. He snapped the phone shut.

“Okay. He left straight away, and turned left. I have no idea how soon he plans to come back and check on you. There’s a back door, and it leads to an alley. I’ll call a cab to pick you up a couple streets away.” He named a crossroads. “Can you get there from here? Do you know the area?” Without really waiting for an answer, he outlined the route, drawing me a map on a scrap of paper.

At the door to the alley, I stopped to thank him. “You don’t know how much this means to me,” I said, tears in my eyes.

“There’s no time to tell you about it, but I think I do.” He lifted his sleeve to show me a tattoo that read simply ‘Monica 5/4/74 – 18/12/05 R.I.P.’ He met my eyes. “My sister. Her husband killed her. Now go.”

I couldn’t help it: I hugged him. Then I ran down the alley, fearful but hopeful. I hadn’t dared to assume I would get this far. Now I just needed to avoid running into Tom as he returned back to check on the progress of my tattoo. Jackson had sent me in the opposite direction from the one Tom had taken on leaving the tattoo parlour, but if he had walked back on himself, I could run into him or he could spot me. I prayed that he’d been waylaid by fans and would be gone for a while.

I made it to the crossroads Jackson had chosen without incident, waiting for another five anxious minutes before a cab pulled up at the corner. “You call for a cab?” I don’t think the driver knew how to respond to such a grateful passenger. I told him to take me directly to Heathrow airport.


	29. Excerpts from the Journal of Dr Caro Foreman, October 2012 – February 2013

**22 October 2012**. Met with Herr Doktor Becker today. No open positions at Düsseldorf University Hospital, but perhaps work for me at another hospital, if I‘m willing to teach. Told him I’m willing to do any mix of duties. Hope to hear within the week. Letter of intent to hire needed for visa.

Had email from Julie – Tom keeps calling her but so far polite, keeping to worried act, pretending she hasn’t seen him without his mask. Very afraid he might eventually threaten to harm her to get to me. She can change her phone and move house but she can’t quit her job.

Also worried about being found – can’t really hide and still hold a job. Tom could easily hire someone to trace me. Can’t do much about it. Hoping he’s got the message. Why would he want me back when I don’t want to be with him anymore?

Sent the engagement ring to Julie, who will repost it to Tom anonymously from somewhere random in the city. It’s not right to keep it, and I don’t want to look at it anyway.

 

 **2 November 2012**. Think the interview went well. Hopefully I can get the Letter of Intent to Hire by next Friday, and apply for visa the following week. Hospital privileges will take a couple months, but I have enough money saved to get by. Really don’t want to take Liam up on his offer to help out—owe him enough already for his introduction to Herr Doktor Becker.

Julie reports Tom stopped calling. He must be satisfied she doesn’t know where I am. That, or he has found out some other way. Can’t help feeling a bit paranoid, after he dragged me back the first time. He doesn’t like losing.

 

 **18 November 2012**. Indescribably sad today. This should have been our wedding day. Almost phoned him dozens of times. Has my leaving made him realise what he did was wrong? Has he possibly learned, changed, with the enormity of the wake-up call? Or is he even crazier now? Does he hate me? I wonder what he’s doing, even where in the world he is. I don’t look. I can’t.

 

 **21 December 2012**. Somehow strings have been pulled, and my privileges have been granted in an unprecedented six weeks. Starting work right after New Year’s.

Christmas will be quiet for me this year. I don’t know anyone well enough to be invited to anything. Tom and I were to have gone back to Rome. God help me, I miss him, as stupid as that sounds. Will this feeling ever go away?

 

 **30 January 2013**. Keeping busy with work and exercise. Knitting offers too much time to think. Goal every day: be exhausted at night and fall asleep immediately. Not really making friends—not sure how long I will stay. Perhaps they sense my sadness. I still miss him. Still cry myself to sleep most nights. Sometimes dial his number, never press SEND. Does he miss me? Does he have another lover already? I’ve never known what was printed in the papers about why our wedding was cancelled. Still can’t bear to look.

 

 **1 February 2013**. There is a man that I am seeing on my way to and from work every day. Wouldn’t have noticed him, except that I see him every day, no matter whether I’m on time, early, or late. Always pass him within a few hundred yards of my block of flats. Today he nodded and greeted me like he knew me. Odd.

 

 **10 February 2013**. I did something incredibly stupid yesterday, because it was Tom’s birthday, and I couldn’t bear it. Tobias Bauer is the hospital’s geneticist, and he’s been asking me out for drinks for weeks. I put him off, just not interested, not ready for a date with anyone. But I couldn’t be alone with my thoughts yesterday, so I said yes. I could blame the alcohol, but I knew what I was doing. Rather than go home alone, I brought Tobias, and used sex to block out the thoughts that drink couldn’t. It didn’t work. I still thought about Tom. This morning Tobias has ‘that look.’ The one that means he thinks he’s in love with me.

Fuck.

 

 **19 February 2013**. Burying myself in work. Tobias has agreed to take things more slowly, at least emotionally. Sex is a nice distraction, and he’s a good-looking man, but I can’t get attached right now. I’ve told him I had a bad breakup and that I called off an engagement, and he seems to understand. Like most men, as long as he’ll be getting sex, he’ll agree to almost anything.

Have I always been that cynical?

 

 **20 February 2013**. I swear I am seeing that man everywhere now. If I didn’t see him constantly, I wouldn’t notice him at all. Average height, average build, average German features. Nondescript winter coat. Clean shaven. A hat. I don’t think I could help a sketch artist draw him, but I could pick him out of a line up. He hasn’t acknowledged me again, but for some reason, I feel like he dislikes me now. I can’t pin down why.

I’m beginning to wonder if this man isn’t watching me for Tom. If he is, he knows about Tobias.


	30. Asking Too Much

The next several weeks found me spotting the nondescript man almost daily. While before, I had seen him anywhere along my route to the hospital, now it seemed that he was more often within a few streets of my flat. The one time I worked up my courage and determined to speak to him, he saw me coming and hailed a taxi, escaping before I reached him. I was sure by then that he was watching me, and I couldn’t think that anyone but Tom would want to have me followed or bother to spend the money to do so. Since the man hadn’t done more than greet me on the street once, I couldn’t really complain to the police. I wondered whether I should look to move to another flat in another area of the city.

It was mid-March, and Tobias had spent the night, as he had the past several Fridays, but since he had to work that Saturday, we awoke early. I had bustled about, making sure he left nothing behind when he left. I didn’t really want to be faced with two toothbrushes in the bathroom. I didn’t love Tobias, and I didn’t want to encourage him to think we were heading towards permanence. Since I had been so careful, I was exasperated to find his scarf hanging on the coatrack five minutes after he’d left.

As I stood debating whether to take it to him at the hospital, the bell rang for the outer door release. Relieved that he had come back for it, saving me the trip in the freezing cold, I jabbed the button without speaking through the intercom. A couple minutes later, he rapped on the door.

I opened the door. The noise I made was involuntary, half a scream and half a gasp. Tom stood in the doorway, his face impassive. He looked thin, cold, and tired.

“Expecting someone else?” he asked without humour.

 _He said that if I ever slept with another man, he’d kill me._ I knew instantly that the man I’d been seeing near the flat was Tom’s spy. I started to slam the door, intending to call 110, hoping that he wouldn’t try to force his way in.

“Please, Caro, I only want to talk to you. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” His pleading tone gave me pause. “Please, may I come in?” His mild manner threw me off. _What game are you playing now, Tom?_

He waited patiently while I stared at him, my mind racing. _What is he doing here? If he was here to kill me, I’d be dead already._ Finally, I nodded and stepped back from the door, motioning for him to enter. As he walked in, I backed away into the living room, trying to keep my distance from him. His bearded face was expressionless, but his eyes were bright, with what emotion I couldn’t tell. He looked gaunt, even thinner than when he was making _Only Lovers Left Alive,_ and as he removed his winter coat, in his usual grey t-shirt and jeans, he looked skinnier than I had ever seen him. I didn’t know whether this was for a role or not, but I put any thoughts of pitying him for the stress he’d felt at my leaving out of my head. He draped the coat over a kitchen chair and dropped his hat on top of it. His hair was its natural blonde, tousled from the hat.

“What are you doing here?” I finally managed to blurt out. My voice cracked, and I cursed myself for how weak I sounded when I meant to sound cold.

“You look well, Caro. How have you been?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. This was too surreal: Tom had come to my flat in Düsseldorf, where I had come to escape him, for small talk. I had no idea how to respond. I thought it would have been less frightening if he’d pounded on my door, shouting. At least I would know what to do.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Just okay. Getting by. What are you doing here?”

He sighed, I suppose at my bluntness. “I’ve come to understand that you needed some space, so up until now, I’ve left you alone.” His tone was reasonable, but those eyes still gleamed at me above cheekbones sharpened by his weight loss. “But seeing another man is going too far. Ever since I found out, I haven’t been able to sleep, haven’t wanted to eat. Please, Caro, come home with me, where you belong.”

I gaped at him, and took another step back. “You think I ‘needed space’? I’ve left you twice. I had to leave the country to get away from you. Now evidently you’ve been spying on me too. You’re lucky you’re not in jail. Get out of my flat, Tom. Get out of Germany. Get out of my life!”

“You can’t mean that, darling. I love you. We belong together. Please don’t look at me like that; I’m not going to hurt you.” He crossed the space between us in three great strides and pulled me into an embrace, my head against his chest. I didn’t fight him; despite what he’d just said, I was still afraid of what he’d do. I could feel how thin he was, and his heart beat fast against my ear. I didn’t know where to put my hands, since I didn’t want to encourage him; I settled for placing them on his waist. He smelled like home, which made me want to cry. “Please, give me another chance. Let me make it all up to you, darling. I’m sorry. I know I asked too much of you.”

I was so incensed that I forgot about my fear as I pulled back to look him in the eye. “'Asked too much of me’? You held me prisoner in the house for two weeks. You hid my phone and changed the password on my computer. You hid my passport. Not to mention the way you treated Julie. I don’t want to go back to the way things used to be. I can’t trust you. You’re asking too much now to ask me to put all that in the past. Don’t you understand that?” I extracted myself from his arms, angry that I had to force myself to do it. His presence, the scent of him, and the touch of his hand were very tempting. I didn’t feel this way about Tobias, and I suddenly felt dirty and low for how I was using him for comfort and distraction. I didn’t want to want Tom. It made everything so much harder.

He frowned in confusion at my words. “It won’t be like that, Caro. I know I was wrong to bring you back to the house. I know I was wrong to take your phone and keep you locked in. But I didn’t know what to do. You said you’d never forgive me for getting you fired, and you wouldn’t even let me try to explain. I panicked, I guess.”

“You panicked for two weeks? You panicked and rescheduled the tattoo I told you I didn’t want? You panicked and forgot to give me back my mobile? This is ridiculous, Tom. You still have never even tried to apologise to me for that vile trick you played on me in the boardroom that cost me my job. You never cared to ask why I didn’t want the tattoo. Why would I want to give you another chance? Why should I?” I was shouting now, months of painful questions spilling out of me without any pause for him to answer. I was throwing arrows, desperately hoping that one would hit the mark.

“Don’t you love me anymore?” He wrapped his arms around himself. The sorrow on his face was a surprise to me. _How could he not know how I feel? What will it take?_

“I loved who I thought you were, Tom. Every day, I miss who you used to be, when you accepted me for who I was, and the control game was only about sex. You tried to tag me, like a dog. You took my career away from me. You lied to me, and you didn’t listen when I told you what I wanted. I don’t know if you’re listening now. But do you really want a woman who would let you treat her that way? When we met, you liked that I was strong and independent. Was it only so that you could break me?” The look on Tom’s face had changed as I spoke, and I could see that a dawning realisation was coming over him. “I would have stayed with you forever, if you hadn’t tried to keep me in a cage. Do you see?”

He stared at me, frozen in place, and I tried to decipher the emotions that flitted across his always-expressive face. I got the impression that he was replaying the past like a movie, tracing the path we had taken to this moment. The last two expressions I read on his face were quite clear: horror, followed by sorrow, the deep grief of loss. It seemed I had finally got through to him, months too late.

His eyes brimming with tears, he turned and, scooping up his coat and hat, ran out of my flat and down the hall. I heard his footsteps pounding on the steps until the stairwell door slammed, cutting them off.


	31. Postscript

The past eight months had dragged by with little to recommend them. I had stopped seeing Tobias not long after Tom’s surprise visit in March. Seeing Tom again had just highlighted the fact that I was marking time with him. I didn’t love Tobias, and I never would. I had forced myself to accept a few dates, but they never led anywhere. I found that I compared everyone to Tom, and they always fell short. I tried to tell myself I was being too picky, but I couldn’t convince myself to settle for someone who didn’t make me feel as beautiful and alive as Tom had.

Tom was interviewed by the press fairly regularly in the spring prior to the release of _Only Lovers Left Alive._ Curiosity had overcome my earlier reluctance to see any reference to him, and now I actively followed his career. I thought that I might actually be a little obsessed, but told myself that keeping tabs on him might help provide me with peace of mind. Plus, if I saw evidence that he had moved on, I thought it would help me to do the same.

Most interviews I read or watched were completely professional, keeping to questions about the films and his career. However, one interview recorded for _Only Lovers Left Alive_ got him talking about love.

“I know what it’s like to be in love, I know what it’s like to fall in love.” He paused, his thin face looking pensive, and seemed to struggle with whether to continue. He looked up at the interviewer with an expression of pain. “I am in love with someone, and I always will be. But I made some bad choices. I went about some things the wrong way, and I drove her away. I believe in redemption, though, and I hold out hope that one day I’ll earn her forgiveness.”

Searching the Internet, I found articles commenting on this unusually candid statement of Tom’s. Readers were reminded that Tom had been engaged, but that the wedding had been cancelled. They speculated that he was talking about me, the woman he’d almost married, but that was as far as they went. Evidently, Luke had been able to keep commentary on our breakup to a minimum.

I wondered what his comment meant. Was he merely playing the tragic figure because it would sell movie tickets? If he meant it, how did he hope to earn my forgiveness? He hadn’t tried to contact me since that morning when he’d shown up at my door.

\-----------------

That past summer, _Only Lovers Left Alive_ had premiered in London, and Tom looked as dashing as always in an Armani tuxedo. While still slim, he looked healthier, as though he’d gained a little weight since I had seen him in March. There were plenty of photos of Tom posing with his co-stars and signing autographs on the red carpet, but no obvious signs of a date on his arm. Of course, I had often waited inside at premieres while he took care of the press, so that didn’t prove he went alone.

One photo drew my attention; Tom stood alone on the red carpet, looking lost. It was the only photo in which he wasn’t smiling. _Don’t feel sorry for him Caro, I chided myself. He could easily have a girlfriend waiting for him just off-camera. This is just one instant in time._ I couldn’t stop returning to that photo, though, reading loneliness and regret into his stance and his face, wondering if he had been wishing that I was there.

October was particularly painful; it had been a year since I had run away from Tom, and yet I still thought about him every day. Would I ever be able to move on? I couldn’t help but wonder whether he was still thinking of me, too. I threw myself into my work, trying to keep too busy for such unproductive thoughts.

The November premiere of _Thor 2_ was huge. Everyone who was anyone walked the red carpet in London, it seemed. I watched the spectacle on television, straining my eyes for every glimpse of Tom whilst trying to convince myself to turn it off. Again, Tom walked the carpet without an escort while his co-stars posed with wives and girlfriends. Scarlett was alone, but I knew that Nate disliked the spotlight. _Tom could have a girlfriend who’s camera-shy, just like me,_ I reminded myself.

Red carpet interviews were popping up online within the hour, and I found myself scanning for Tom’s. He appeared quite chuffed about _Thor 2,_ with no trace of the sadness I thought I saw in the photo from the previous premiere. _What did you expect? Stop it, Caro._ I forced myself to stop watching the videos.

A few days later, I received a call, the ID showing an unknown number. I answered warily, and was surprised to hear Scarlett’s voice.

“Caro? It took me forever to track you down. How are you? What are you doing in Germany? Talk to me.”

“Um, hi, Scarlett. It’s great to hear from you. Talk about what? I’m working here.” I was being deliberately obtuse, and we both knew it.

“Come on. All Tom would tell me is that he totally fucked up. Whatever he did must have been pretty bad since you left, but he won’t tell me. He actually said I wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore if I knew what he’d done.”

“I shouldn’t tell you then either. It’s better you don’t know. It doesn’t matter now; it’s over. It’s ancient history.” I felt the tears coming. Still, after all this time, I couldn’t talk about Tom without crying.

“Oh, honey, don’t cry.” Scarlett sounded genuinely concerned, and it just made me cry harder. “If you miss him so much, why don’t you talk it out? I know he’d love the chance, but he’s afraid to call you, or even write. He thinks you won’t even listen, and he can’t bear that thought.” She paused. “He’s pining away over you. All he does is work. He doesn’t date, he doesn’t go out. It’s not like him at all. He misses you so much. Can’t you try to work out whatever went wrong? You two were so in love.”

I was sobbing now, groping blindly for a tissue. “I can’t!” was all I managed to choke out.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you like this. I don’t know what he did that was so bad, but I can tell you that he’s truly sorry. He wishes he could turn back the clock and undo his mistakes. He misses you terribly. And it sounds like you still miss him too. So think about talking to him, okay?”

“It’s no use, Scarlett,” I said, sniffling. “I just can’t. I can’t spend my life with someone I can’t trust to be honest with me, someone who thinks he can decide what’s best for me. I—” I cut myself off before I said anymore. I didn’t want to be responsible for harming Tom’s relationships with his friends. If he didn’t want to tell Scarlett any of the details of what had happened between us, I wouldn’t tell her either.

“He realises all that,” she said earnestly. “That’s exactly what he said to me: ‘I thought I knew what was best for her, and for us, and I didn’t listen to what she really wanted. I was a fucking idiot.’ Don’t you see, Caro? He knows that whatever he did was wrong, and he wants to make it up to you. You don’t find love everyday. Can’t you at least listen to what he has to say?”

I sniffed. “It’s not a good idea. Really. Not good.”

“But you’re not shouting at me. You haven’t hung up. You’ll think about it.”

“Don’t tell him that!” I snapped. “Don’t tell him anything.”

“Oh believe me, I won’t. I don’t want him to know I’m calling you. I wouldn’t have had to dig so hard for your number if I could have just asked him for it.”

“He has my number?” I realised that I should have expected that, since he knew where I lived and worked.

“He must. He told me that every night, before he goes to sleep, he dials your number, but doesn’t complete the call. He tells you he loves you, and misses you, and he hopes you’re all right. He says he’s sorry, and he says ‘good night.’”

I barely managed to get off the phone before I burst into tears again. Time and distance were supposed to heal my heartbreak. Why did I feel even worse now than I had when I left him?

\--------------------

My address on the envelope was typed, and I didn’t recognise the return address in London. The letter inside was handwritten though, and I knew the hand instantly. I told myself that the best course was not to read it. I lasted five minutes before pouring myself a glass of wine and settling down on the sofa to read.

 

12 November 2013

My Dearest Caro,

I write this letter not knowing whether you will ever read it, but hope springs eternal. It‘s one week shy of what should have been our first wedding anniversary, and instead I am bereft and alone. For all that I have done wrong, I deserve my pain, but I can’t help but hold out hope that happiness will be possible again someday. I cannot imagine it though, without at least making peace with you.

If you have read this far, I hope you will continue as I try to explain the smallest part of the journey I have made over the months since I appeared at your flat, scaring the life out of you, I’m sure. I’ve finally realised how far over the boundaries of love I trespassed, and how very tolerant you were. Yet I continued to press and press, until you had to choice but to escape. A caged bird does not sing by choice; she sings for fear she will not be fed. I understand now that you have never betrayed me, but I abused your trust many times over.

My path to these terrible truths has been difficult. I was so consumed with anger and indignation when you left that my friends and family eventually saw that something was very wrong. They finally convinced me to consult a psychologist who has helped me see the destructiveness of my need to control you. One thing that has not changed is my love and admiration for you. That you still think me a monster brings me great sorrow, though I can’t blame you in the slightest for thinking it.

I couldn’t begin to presume to ask you to give me another chance, though I must make it crystal clear that I would welcome you back home in a heartbeat, under any terms you would dictate. The best I can hope for, I fear, is that you will someday come to understand how sorry I am for how I’ve treated you. I continue to be introduced to beautiful and intelligent women all the time through my work, but I find that none of them compare to you in any way. Your forgiveness is my Holy Grail; I will do anything, fulfil any quest you set, to earn it. 

I am more contrite than words can say. Please, please consider writing back, or calling. My number hasn’t changed – I keep hoping against hope that one day, when my phone rings, it will be you. I miss you immeasurably. The only thing I wish for more than your forgiveness is to hold you in my arms again. I wish I had cherished you properly while I still had the chance.

I love you, and I always will. Your happiness is the most important thing to me, as it should have been all along. Even if you feel you can’t contact me, I hope at least that this letter will allow you to lay to rest any fears you may have had about me stalking you (for now I know that’s what I did).

Know that you are in my thoughts, always. There is no one but you. “Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.”

Forever yours,

Tom

 

I read the letter many times through my tears, until I practically had it memorised. It seemed too good to be true, the sum total of everything I had fantasized hearing from Tom over the past year, everything he hadn’t said when he showed up at my door eight months ago. I pored over the words, looking for the tell, the mistake that would prove that this letter was but one more ploy to get me back under his thumb, to win the game of control. Was I crazy to think that Tom could or would play such a long game? Surely, if domination and control over someone was what he desired, he could have found a willing woman by now. His letter matched Scarlett’s impression of his state of mind, yet I wondered whether she was being used by him to make me think just that. He had been so manipulative in the past that I found I couldn’t stop second-guessing his motives now.

His interview comment nagged at me, and I reminded myself that he couldn’t be sure that I would ever hear that remark. It couldn’t have been meant for me, but could it have been a calculated move to make his character in _Only Lovers Left Alive_ more sympathetic? Surely though, he wouldn’t want to make such a statement publicly if in fact he were looking for a new girlfriend. I knew though, that he could explain anything away with his charm and humour.

If I did believe that Tom was completely sincere, that he had really gotten counselling and had undergone a complete change of heart, could I trust that it would last? If I agreed to start communicating with Tom again, and it lead to us reconciling, would I someday find myself once more cut off from friends and family? He said that I could dictate any terms, but was that any good either? I didn’t want to control him any more than I wanted to be controlled.

I desperately wanted to believe that what Scarlett had told me and what Tom said in the letter were true. He wasn’t over-reaching, and he wasn’t expecting me to come back and pick up where we’d left off. He seemed to finally have understood what he’d demanded of me, what he’d done to me. He’d sought professional help, if he was telling the truth, and that must have been a huge blow to his pride.

When I spoke to Julie on the phone, I often told her that I thought I was beginning to heal. I had hoped that saying it would make it eventually come true. But I had to admit, if only to myself, that I still missed Tom terribly. I missed his voice, his humour, the feel of his hands on my skin. I missed the constant stream of impressions he did whenever we watched television together. I missed his breathing next to me when I awoke in the middle of the night. I missed the way he looked at me as though I was the most desirable woman in the world. Despite all he had done wrong, I still loved him. After a year apart, I was beginning to think that I always would. What did that mean for the rest of my life?

I had been back to work and living independently for a year. I had made friends here, business connections. Did I even want to consider a course of action that might take me back to London? I couldn’t get my old job back; even if Tom admitted to the hospital board that he had set me up, I had still had sex in the boardroom. There was no going back there. Of course, that was putting the cart before the horse. Even if I agreed to speak to Tom, that didn’t mean that I could ever feel comfortable trusting him again. He had been so oblivious, and so dangerous. Should I even consider allowing him back in my life?

I realised I was pacing the flat. Should I call Julie and read her the letter? If he was sincere, it would mean sharing his most intimate thoughts with her. Was that fair to him? I had always tried to give Tom his due, even when perhaps he didn’t deserve it. Wronging him in no way made up for any wrongs he had done me. I knew I needed to make this decision on my own. I also knew that I wasn’t ready to speak to him, to hear the pain written in that letter expressed in his voice.

I sat down at my desk and drew out a sheet of my nicest stationery. I stared at the blank page for what felt like an eternity. I made my decision. Then, taking a deep breath, I picked up a pen and began to write.

THE END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Postscript to “Postscript”: Thank you for reading my story! I never set out to write a novel, but that’s what this is: just under 95 thousand words. I wish to remind future readers that from around chapter 25, I was writing about the future. For this reason, timelines may not fit so well with reality in the rest of the story. For instance, the premiere date for _Only Lovers Left Alive_ has not yet been announced at the time of posting chapter 31.
> 
> Please see additionally a song playlist (listed as chapter 32). It’s just for fun: songs either mentioned in the story or that make me think of the story at various points. I’ll try to explain them where needed.
> 
> This ending is not my original. My betas threatened to behead me when they read it! I will post it eventually on AO3 only, as a separate item. You can choose whether to read it or not. It’s not happy. That’s all I’ll say for now.


	32. Song List for "Hiddle Me This"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just for fun. These are songs that made me think of the storyline and/or appeared in the story. I hope you enjoy them.

Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge   
I Put a Spell on You - Nina Simone   
Friday I'm in Love - The Cure...do I have to explain?   
Judas - Lady GaGa (mentioned in club scene)  
S&M – Rihanna (mentioned in club scene)  
You and Me – Lifehouse (not named in the club scene but this was the song Caro and RDJ danced to)  
Wide Awake - Katy Perry  
Rapunzel - Dave Matthews Band   
Everybody's Fool - Evansescence  
Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You) - Kelly Clarkson  
Every Breath You Take - The Police  
Black Horse and the Cherry Tree - KT Tunstall   
Private Eyes - Hall & Oates  
Angels - Within Temptation   
Storm - Lifehouse  
What Have You Done? - Within Temptation

Some songs from Tom's point of view

Open Arms - Journey  
It's Been A While - Staind   
Forgiven - Within Temptation   
Hurt (Johnny Cash's version)


End file.
